


Happily Ever After

by serendipityspeaks



Category: Original Work
Genre: Actors, Afterglow, Alternate Universe - Actors, Banter, Black Character(s), Cheese, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotica, F/M, Falling In Love, Fame, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Female Ejaculation, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Interracial Relationship, Lemon, London, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, New York City, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Penis In Vagina Sex, Penis Size, Phone Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Rough Sex, Sappy, Sarcasm, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Squirting, Strong Female Characters, Surprise Sex, Surprises, Teasing, True Love, Venezia | Venice, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipityspeaks/pseuds/serendipityspeaks
Summary: This is the story of Akila and Noah, and their love and lives together.  She is an African-American woman finishing up a PhD in Astrophysics, and he's a household name actor and the son of an old-money British family.  She lives in NY, and he lives in London, but a chance encounter in Venice makes them a fixture in each others' lives.  It's fiction I write when I need something happy and fluffy and want to explore the complexities of human relationships.  This is a sort of us-against-the-world narrative where the conflict comes from navigating their different lives and different (sometimes traumatic, in Noah's case.) pasts.  It is written in alternating viewpoints depending on who I feel is the best view for the scene in question.





	1. Chapter 1: Carnivale: Best and Worst Costumes and Where to Get Them

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, I started writing this story as 100% wish-fulfillment and it morphed into something else. It's still wish fulfilment, but I started getting really interested in the sort of complexities and joys that would come from being a relatively normal (I mean, she is getting a PhD in astrophysics, so...relatively, lol.) person is thrust into the world of a world-famous star who is wealthy beyond anything most people will ever encounter. But mostly it's a lot of like "how would it really feel to be a normal person who gets into a relationship with a rich actor". Then he started to be more complex than just "hot, rich, british actor" (she started complex.), and that's where I started to get even more enjoyment from writing the story. It's not 100% problem or conflict free, but I HATE that romance trope where they have to break up before they get together for good. No, this is them overcoming their problems together. And, of course, lots of sex. Because that's how I roll. 
> 
> A note on race: Akila was always black, to me. Before I even started thinking about expanding the story, she was always an African-American woman. Then I started reading the things that black women were talking about when it came to their experiences in fiction and romance and the portrayals of their characters, and I knew I'd need more nuance. This is primarily a story where a brilliant, beautiful black woman gets to be the closest thing I think we have to a princess. She is loved and cherished and spoiled. Noah, on the other hand, I have thought over and over about changing him from being white to being black. I didn't want to inadvertently send the message that somehow the love of a white man is worth more than that of a black man, but ultimately I kept him white because I wanted to go for an inversion of the "white woman as a prize for a successful black man" trope that I'd seen a lot of black women talk about. So this isn't a story that's going to get hardcore into the racism she experiences (although I don't ignore it because that's unrealistic, but it isn't the focus of the story.). And I know I'll make mistakes because I'm not a black woman, and I'm sorry for that in advance, but i felt it better to try and be imperfect than to not tell their story. But I want you to know that if you are a black woman, this story is as safe for you as I know how to make it - and I'm always learning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the meet-cute from Akila's perspective. She meets a funny, drunken masked stranger after a carnivale ball while waiting for her water taxi. She helps him find his way him, and even though she has no idea who he is, she can't get him out of her mind.

I was leaning against the side of pillar at the dock behind the palazzo Pisani Moretta, the stone of the pillar and the wind off the canals letting the cold seep through my heavy costume, wishing that the builders of Venice had thought more highly of public benches. My feet were killing me, and despite the tempting memories I’d just made at the carnivale masquerade ball, I didn’t want to go back inside and make more. I was exhausted, and the friend who’d gotten us the tickets to begin with had long since left with someone she’d met at the party. I, on the other hand, was going home alone. To top that off, my mask had broken and I had to wander around bare-faced. Now I waited for my water taxi to show. Judging by how long I’d already been waiting, I’d be here the rest of the night. I would have walked and braved the vaporetto, but my feet really did hurt and I was afraid of getting my borrowed costume dirty. 

“Nice mask,” a deep, muffled voice said from next to me. I jumped, startled, and turned to whomever it was. It was a man, tall and thick through the shoulders. It was hard to tell much else about him though, because he was covered head-to-toe in a deep purple carnivale costume. The amount of bling on it was enough to give anyone a headache, and I didn’t know how he didn’t have an enormous neck ache from the giant plume of feathers on top. The voice had a british accent, but beyond that I couldn’t tell much about him. 

“You’re hilarious,” I replied. 

“An American?,” the tone of surprise registered even through the muffling effect of the mask. 

I couldn’t help it, a smile curved the corner of my mouth, “Lucky for you, unless you speak italian?” 

“I don’t speak Italian, but,” his head moved up in down in a clear appraisal of me, “Lucky me anyway.” 

“No one said anything about getting lucky.” 

I couldn’t see the smirk, but I could hear it in his voice, “You just did.” 

I crossed my arms, but quickly dropped them. I’d gotten hot inside at the party and taken off the elaborate shrug that came with my costume, and I didn’t need to call any more attention to the effects of my corset than necessary. I settled for rolling my eyes, “You know, you’re awfully confident for someone who could be a complete troll under that mask.” 

Engaged in conversation with me, he stepped closer and I could see his eyes through the slits in the mask. They were a strange shade of green, deep, almost emerald, “I’m not a complete troll. Or an orc, or any other kind of fantastical, ugly beast.” 

“Pity. I’m totally into that,” I don’t know why I was teasing him, or flirting with him, by there was something engaging about him. Something fun. And it gave me something to do while waiting for my taxi that wasn’t stewing on my aching feet. 

“I’m sure I could work something out, if that’s the case. Growl or something,” the idea of him growling should have made me laugh, but instead the sound that emerged in my head was low and dangerous, sexy and possessive. My skin got warm thinking of it and I was glad I wasn’t wearing the shrug. What the hell? I hadn’t even seen this guy’s face. He abruptly switched subjects, and it was this little meander in conversation that made me realize he was drunk, “What happened to your mask?” 

“It broke.” 

“Well I, for one, am not going to mourn the loss. Yours is the only real face I’ve seen tonight, and it’s beautiful.” 

I was full on blushing now, “Too bad I can’t return the compliment, sir not-a-troll.” 

“Also sir not-an-orc, sir not-an-ogre, and sir not-a-homunculus.” 

“Homunculus, huh? That’s an obscure one. How’d you get to be such a keen authority on beastly things?” 

“I thought only brits like me were supposed to say words like ‘beastly’?” 

“And gastly, and git, and wanker, and ‘luv’,” I said that last one in a fake british accent. I knew I was playing into a stereotype, but I was finding it fun needling him. 

“Obviously you’ve been to the UK,” there was laughter in his voice, like he knew what I was doing. 

“Nope, just watch a lot of BBC.” 

He made a noise of derision, “Isn’t there some sort of reality TV thing that you’d rather watching?” 

I scowled, “Assumptions about Americans and TV. Strike one, sir-looking-more-and-more-like-a-troll.” 

“Sorry. Not Americans and TV, TV in general.” 

“You don’t like TV?” 

“Nah,” a noise issued from inside a fold of his clothing and he dug his phone out. He read whatever message he’d gotten and frowned. Then he went to go respond, but I saw the phone go dark, “Shit.” 

“Once more, with feeling!,” I joked. 

“Shyyyyyiiiitttt,” He shook his head then stopped, pressing a hand to his masked forehead, “Oh I should not have done that.” 

“How drunk are you?” 

“Drunk enough that I probably won’t be able to find my way back to the hotel now that my taxi’s cancelled on me.” 

“Must be some of that going around. I’ve been waiting out here for ages,” and honestly, I probably could have walked home in the amount of time I’d been standing here. Pleasant company aside, “I’ve been in Venice awhile, so I could probably give you directions. Where are you staying?” 

I saw his eyes squint in what I knew had to be the standard drunk-person-trying-to-brain expression, “Grimy...? Grotty...?” 

I laughed, “Gritti. The Hotel Gritti. It’s kind of a hike and we’ll have to take the vaporetto unless you want to walk all the way up to the Rialto - which I don’t - so we’ll have to take the vaporetto. It’s close to my place though, so I can get you home.” 

“It’s ok if it’s a hike, I’m in excellent shape,” I could hear the grin in his voice again. 

“Alright captain muscle-pants, let’s go,” I turned and walked back into the building to find the street exit, not checking to see if my new friend was following. I heard his footsteps on the stones behind me. We made it out front pretty quickly and I snuck a glance over at him, “You know, you can take the mask off now. We’re leaving the party.” 

He had to get behind me to fit through the small side streets that led us away from the palazzo, but I felt him close behind me in the dimness of the alleyways. Strange, it didn’t feel like he was trying to creep on me, it felt almost protective, “It’s all connected to the costume, so I’d have to get all undressed any everything.” 

“Aw, what a crying shame,” I joked, “I was really hoping to see all that troll flesh on display.” 

“Troll flesh, my ass,” he griped. 

“I don’t know anything about your troll ass, it’s covered in ten pounds of velvet and rhinestones.” 

“So you looked?” 

“Nah, you haven’t stood in front of me yet.” 

That got me a laugh, “Hang on then and let me get in front, and I’ll bend over so you can get a look.” 

“I’m good, I’ve seen enough rhinestones to last me the rest of my life, thanks.” 

“Rhinestone, rhinestones, sparkly, sparkly rhinestones,” he sang. 

“How drunk are you?,” I asked, laughing. 

“Really, really drunk. Like I’m not three sheets to the wind, I’m sixteen sheets to the wind. Venetians know how to party.” 

“Yeah, they really do,” I winced as I stumbled a little over an uneven stone. We were out of the small pathways and into the larger streets, almost to the Vaporetto stop actually, but the streets were still old and sometimes the pavers weren’t quite level. 

“You ok?,” he asked, noticing my wince. 

“Yeah. Nothing a little taking off my shoes won’t fix.” 

“Ah, female torture devices,” he nodded sagely, “I’m all too familiar. Occupational hazard.” 

“Huh?,” I asked, confused and distracted by my painful shoes. 

“Oh, nothing. I have sisters, is all. I’ve seen what wearing them does to you guys.” 

“Oh. How many sisters?” 

“A few. Too many? Several, certainly. Like five.” 

“Five sisters?! Damn.” 

“Do you have siblings?” 

“Nuh-uh, only child.” 

“Oh, well, I’d say you were lucky but honestly, my sisters are great.” 

Something about the five sisters thing tickled a memory in the back of my mind, but it wouldn’t float to the surface. But there was something familiar about the weird green eyes, the siblings, and the british accent. I just couldn’t tell what it was. 

We reached the Vaporetto stop just in time to make it down the gangplank and onto the boat. I didn’t bother validating the ticket I always carried; they never checked. I still bought tickets when I thought I should because I felt bad if I didn’t, but validating them was a waste of time. We found a seat and I dropped gratefully into it, so happy to be off my feet that I didn’t care about maybe getting the costume dirty. Honestly, the heels weren’t even that high, but I’d been dancing in them all night. My companion stood nearby, leaning on the side of the boat and looking down at me. The boat rocked and swayed as it pulled away from the dock. 

“So, the hotel Gritti? Fancy-schmancy. Maybe I’ll call you Daddy Warbucks instead of sir not-a-troll.” 

“You could have just stopped at daddy,” I could hear the smirk in his voice again, even though I couldn’t see it. I made a sound that was halfway between a burst of giggles and a hacking snort of surprise. I ended up just laughing and choking on my own spit. I was so, so smooth. 

“That was not nice!,” I said when I recovered. 

“I’d say making you crack up like that was nice, though,” he finally sat down next to me, having to make room for the gigantic red velvet skirt of my ball gown. His head tilted back and I saw those green eyes disappear behind lids rimmed with thick, dark lashes. There were tiny laugh lines around his eyes, and there was something about knowing he smiled a lot that made me feel more comfortable with him. 

We sat in companionable silence as the boat chugged its slow way down the Grand Canal. Luckily, the stop we’d need to get off at was close to his hotel and my apartment. After a few minutes I heard a snort and a muffled snore come from under the mask, and I burst into another shower of giggles. I smacked him playfully in the chest with the back of my hand, not wanting him to fall too deeply to sleep. Sleeping drunks were difficult to rouse, “Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up!” 

“Huh?,” bleary, foggy green when his eyes opened and he looked at me. Luckily, though, I didn’t have a lot of trouble waking him. 

“You’re too heavy for me to carry so you’re not allowed to fall asleep.” 

“Sorry. I blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.” 

I snickered at his song reference, “It’s ok. Hey, how tall are you anyway?” 

“In American? Uh,” confused drunk math was occurring in his head, I could tell. 

“It’s ok, I know what meters are.” 

“About two meters. Tiny bit more.” 

“So like 6’5 or 6’6. That is damned tall.” 

“Weather’s fine up here, thanks.” 

“I honestly wasn’t going to ask.” 

“Ok. How tall are you? All three of you.” 

“Oh Jesus, you were not kidding about being drunk.” 

“Nope. But I was kidding about seeing three of you. There’s only two.” 

I laughed again, “I’m 5’8. 1.8 meters, in British.” 

“Well aren’t you and your math all handy and stuff. Favorite color?,” I looked down at my scarlet red dress and gestured with my hand, “Right, ok, good point. Favorite food?”

“Sweet or savory?” 

“Both.” 

“Carbonara and macarons. My turn. What’s your favorite color?” 

“Teal. Like the color of the water in Tahiti.” 

“Never been.” 

“You wanna go?” 

“Some day, yeah. I’m holding out for my honeymoon, because what’s the point of one of those cute overwater bungalows if you can’t spend all day wandering around it naked?” 

“Whomever you’re marrying is one lucky dude. Or chick. Don’t wanna judge.” 

“Well, it could be either, but at the moment I’m on team forever alone.” 

“Their loss,” I heard him give a jaw-cracking yawn behind the paper mache of the mask. 

“Don’t worry, toots, we’re almost there and you can almost sleep.” 

“Not that I’m not enjoying your company,” he slurred, “But that eighth margarita really got to me. Then the ninth and tenth came to play and it was all over.” 

“Might I suggest less tequila next time?” 

“It was really good tequila,” another yawn, and I yawned too. The boat was drifting to a stop at the dock, so I nudged him. 

“This is our stop. Help me up, would you?,” the ball gown weighed a ton and I couldn’t bend at the waist. Shockingly, considering the sleepiness and the yawning, he jumped up and offered me a hand. I grabbed on and he hauled me and my tons of dress to my feet. We trudged off the boat, heading for the hotel, “Between you and your drunk face and me and my feet, we make quite the carnival pair.” 

“Yeah but you made like the best guide home,” technically, there wasn’t really a street that connected the Giglo Vaporetto stop to the entrance of the hotel Gritti, but a friend of mine lived in one of the buildings, and she’d given me the code so I could cut through and get home quicker. So I led us into the building, my fingers to my lips, “See? Like this. This is awesome.” 

“Shhh, drunky McDrunkerston. People are sleeping.” 

“Got it. I’ll be quiet,” shockingly, he stopped talking and the only sounds as we walked through the building was the swishing of my skirts and our footsteps on the stone floors. We were out in a couple of minutes, and standing in front of the hotel. 

“Well, this is where we part ways, I think.” 

He was quiet for a second and said, “Do you want to come up?” 

“Uhhhh,” I kinda did, but I wasn’t really feeling the drunken tumble. I just wanted to sleep. 

“Not like that. I mean, not that I wouldn’t, you’re gorgeous, but I’m way too drunk. It’s more that I’ve got this fantastic room and it would be a shame if no one else ever saw the inside.” 

“Ok. Weirdo,” I have no idea why I said yes. Maybe I didn’t want to go yet. Maybe I just liked him. I know for sure I was at least a little curious because the hotel Gritti was one of the nicest hotels in the city, “Lead on.” 

He grabbed my hand, the whole thing, like a kid does without lacing your fingers together, and led me through the hotel. 

To a private elevator. Well ok, then. Nice room, my ass, “Shit, you were not kidding.” 

“Nope,” the elevator slid open, “Come on.” 

After a short ride, I followed him into the room and looked around, “This is an apartment not a room.” 

“Yup. There’s a terrace and everything. Go ahead and look around, I’ll be right back. Gotta break the seal.” 

“Charming,” he laughed and walked off in what I guessed was the general direction of the nearest bathroom. I, on the other hand, knew there was only one thing to do in this situation: I whipped out my phone and started taking pictures of what was surely the nicest hotel suite I’d ever see in my entire life. The whole thing was covered in decadent Venice decoration - gold and swirls and old wood on almost every surface. The general color scheme was warm, with creaky old parquet floors and a deep red velvet couch. I would have sat on it, but I didn’t know if I could get up again, so I left it alone. 

Ten minutes later, he was still in the other room, so I wandered that direction. The bedroom light was on and the door was open, so I cautiously made my way towards it. I didn’t want to catch him peeing, and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to see him naked either if this was some kind of weird setup. I peeked around the edge of the doorframe, and I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me. 

He’d apparently gotten caught either on the way to or from the bathroom, too enticed by the bed to pass it by. Because now he was laying face down on the bed, breathing gentle and even. He was clearly asleep, still fully clothed. The silly mask was even on still. I snapped a picture of the room for posterity, and then turned to leave. 

A pad of paper and a pen caught my eye. I bit my lip for a second and the nodded to myself. Why not? I grabbed and wrote my name and number on it, leaving it where I knew he’d see it the next morning. Then I snapped a picture of him sleeping in his costume so I could tease him about it the next day if he did text me, and I booked it. I was home in ten minutes, had my shoes off before I even closed the door, and was undressed in fifteen. I didn’t even bother to put the dress away, instead falling into bed after I’d taken my makeup off, brushed my teeth, pineappled my hair, and peed. I was asleep before I even got comfortable. 


	2. Chapter 2: Noah Vintor Spotted Vacationing in Venice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noah has a rough morning after, but recovers by going on a date with the brilliant, gorgeous woman he met the night before. A woman who has no idea who he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for my terrible google translate Italian, lol. =D

I couldn’t decide which was worse - the pounding in my head, the roiling in my stomach, or the way the puddle of drunk drool had stuck the paper mache mask to my face. And I definitely didn’t know which of these things to remedy first. Thinking was hard, and the only real thoughts I had revolved around being glad that the curtains were closed and it was damned dark in my room. 

Mask first. That way if my stomach really started to revolt I didn’t have to worry about it. I groaned aloud when I moved to unwind the cloth around it and pull it off my face. It took more coordination and effort than I really had in me, but I managed to get it and the attached piece of costume off, and I flung it to the side and tried to decide what to address next. 

My body chose for me, and I bolted to the toilet. I made it in time, but only just. I hung my head over the bowl and I prayed to the porcelain god; then I sat on the floor with my head against the cool marble of the wall until my stomach made some progress towards righting itself. It took some time, and I almost fell asleep again in the bathroom, but I managed to get things under control. I got up and wobbled my way back to the bedroom. I even yanked off my shoes and started peeling myself out of the costume. Christ, I needed a shower. And a mouthful of ibuprofen. And toothpaste. 

I sat on the edge of the bed staring into space for a minute, and I noticed something. There was writing on the pad of paper on the nightstand, and it didn’t look like Lance’s. I grabbed it and checked. 

_ Akila. The girl who walked you home last night. Text me if you want. 0327 6237466 _ . 

Girl who...what? I squinted, trying to recall through the drunken fog of the party. I’d gone out to my taxi, but right...the fucker didn’t show. And there was a girl. No, wait, a woman. A fucking gorgeous woman. Now I remembered. Well, not in detail, but I remembered warm brown skin and curling, dark auburn hair. I remembered a smile and laughing whiskey-brown eyes. I remembered thinking she was smart and funny and I wanted to talk but I was way too drunk. But I’d woken up in my costume, which meant we hadn’t done anything and, more importantly, she had no idea who I was. Great, just great. Another complication if I was going to talk to her again. 

There was bang on my door and I winced. I grunted an answer and Lance opened it, striding in. Lance was my bodyguard and my driver. I had a few assistants, but they hadn’t come to Venice with me. Only Lance. He wordlessly handed me a rattling bottle of headache meds and big glass of water. I took it and swallowed down some of the medicine. 

“How did you know I was up?,” I asked. 

“Heard you barfing,” the big man gave me a shrewd once-over. I knew for a fact those deep-set grey eyes didn’t miss anything, “It’s been awhile since you woke up this way.” 

“Yeah. Carnivale,” I answered dismissively. For once, it really was just the party that made me drink, “Hey, did I bring home a girl last night?” 

“Don’t know, I didn’t come home.” 

“Oh, right,” I’d given him the night off, figuring I wouldn’t need him at a party like the one I’d been at. I’d been right, too, so I guess it was the better choice to let him have his own fun. 

“I think I met someone.” 

“Threw up half your stomach, hungover as shit, and that’s what you’re thinking about? You meet a lot of people.” 

“Yeah,” I ran my thumb across my lip, thinking, “Hey, you remember that place we went to a couple nights ago? The one with the dark wood that I liked and the private room?” 

“I do.” 

“Could you make some reservations for me tonight? There was a girl. Oh, and I need a water taxi, too. One that won’t abandon me,” I grumbled. He only did that kind of stuff for me when I was on vacation, and even then it was rare. But I felt like ass warmed over and I hadn’t even asked Akila out yet. I only had the energy for making reservations or talking to a woman right now. Not both. 

“I’ll get it set up. You good?” 

“Yes. Thanks for the meds,” I tipped the glass of water at him and took another swig. He just nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 

It took me a minute to remember where my phone was, but I finally dug it out of the pocket of the fancy brocade coat that had been the outer layer of my costume. It was dead, and that reminded me why she’d walked me home. My phone had died and I had no idea how to get back to my place without a water taxi. I plugged it in and got changed while it soaked up some electricity from the wall. Right now, the only thing I wanted to wear was a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, so I pulled them on and went back to my phone. It had enough juice now to turn on and I impatiently waited for it to boot up. 

As soon as it was on I sent the message:  _ Oh God I am so sorry. _

_ For what? _ , came the immediate reply. 

_ My behavior last night. Let me make it up to you? _

_ Aw c’mon, daddy, your behavior last night was hilarious.  _

Daddy?! What the hell had I gotten up to with this chick? Her next message was a picture of me passed out on the bed and a smiley face.  _ That’s sweet, sugarplum, but you’re busting my excuse for asking you out.  _

_ Oh well then don’t let me interrupt. Make with the asking.  _

_ Do you want to go to dinner tonight? I need to make up for being obnoxiously drunk and thank you for getting me home ok. Even with that little paparazzi pic of me sleeping.  _

_ Hell yeah. By the way, what’s your name? _

I carefully considered it, and decided she should learn who I was in person, not over text. I sent her the fake name I used for reservations.  _ Ryan. _

We get the details straightened out and then I toss the phone away to charge. I drag my ass to the shower, hoping the water will clear some cobwebs, and get ready to face my day. 

As it turned out, there wasn’t a lot to face. Lance made the reservations, and I had plenty of suits with me. I felt like ass warmed over while the hangover worked itself out, so I mostly just sat in the apartment playing Mariocart with my bodyguard and obsessively checking the time. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. I put down the controller about an hour and a half before I needed to leave, and went to get ready. 

I showered off the last of last night’s funk, shaved, and did all of the other things I needed to before heading out. I went with a white oxford under a deep blue silk suit. It was one of my favorites. I have a few loves in life, and one of them is suits in colors that aren’t black. I yanked on my shoes, gave myself one last look in the mirror, and headed down to the waiting water taxi. I left Lance home, not wanting to drag a bodyguard to my date. 

It didn’t take long for it to deliver me to the dock entrance to the restaurant. There was a front entrance too, but I came in this way because the fewer people that saw me, the better. I was met by a waiter, and he led me up to the private room I’d reserved. I was ten minutes early, so I settled in to wait, pacing. Should I stand and wait? Sit in the booth like I’m ready to eat? Pace? No, then I’ll have to stop or get up when she comes in. It’ll just be awkward. I stand, but what do I do with my hands? 

Christ, I hadn’t been this nervous about a date in ages. Where is articulate, suave Noah? Why can’t that guy come out and play? What are we going to talk about? I can skate by on my career if I need to, but I don’t want to. I want to talk to her like a normal person. I want to charm her, not overwhelm her. What if she knows who I am? What if she doesn’t? Goddammit, I should have just told her who I was. My internal babbling was cut short when I heard the creak of the door opening, and I turned to face it. 

The air was sucked out of the room when I saw her. Her eyes met mine, and we both froze. I’d remembered the color of them, amber brown, but not the rest of her. Good gods this woman was gorgeous. She looked like the auburn haired lovechild of Janet Jackson and Lauryn Hill. Perfect, smooth brown skin, soft, fluffy corkscrew curls that swept down past her shoulders, and a mouth that I was positive was made for kissing. I met her eyes, seeing the comprehension dawning there. This woman definitely knows who I am. 

I broke the stalemate first, walking forward and holding out my hand, “Right, well, now that I’m not wearing a mask, let me introduce myself. I’m Noah Vintor.” 

She was wearing that stunned look that people get when they meet me for the first time. The look that means they’re deciding if I’m a real person or a fake one, but for her it’s tinged with surprise, “I’ve seen every movie you’ve ever been in. Well, except the shitty ones in the beginning. Sorry, I couldn’t force my way through them even for you.” 

I laugh, and she shakes her head like she’s clearing the cobwebs or coming to a decision, and takes my hand. I notice the sharp, perfect ovals of her nails are painted a shining red that matches the dress I can kind of see under her coat. Her skin is as soft as it looks, and I try really hard not to imagine what it would feel like on other parts of my body. Instead, I release her from the handshake and gesture to the big, u-shaped booth nearby. She starts to take her coat off and finally, enough of my shell-shock wears off that smooth Noah actually shows up to the party, “Here, let me. And I don’t mind, by the way. About you not sitting through all my movies.” 

I helped her take her coat off, hanging it on a nearby hook. We slide into the booth on opposite sides, taking up spots at the apex. Close, but not so close that we can’t see each other to talk. I watch as she takes in the warm intimacy of the room. It’s part of an old building, and warm late afternoon sunshine is illuminating dust motes in the air. She looks around, and to me it seems like there’s nothing her sharp gaze doesn’t take in. 

“You know, it makes sense now,” she says. 

“What does?” 

“The fancy hotel room, the lack of a last name, the expensive restaurant, and how you were at that party to begin with,” I feel my face get warm as she describes the expenditures of my wealth. Am I blushing? What the hell, I don’t blush! 

I cough to clear my throat and hopefully the inconvenient blushing, “Oh, yes, well, I’m not really trying to show off. I just figure I have it, so I might as well spend it.” 

“That’s a good policy. If I had it, I’d spend it too,” She smiles at me, and I feel the warmth again. What in the seven hells is going on? She relaxes back into the bench, picking up the menu and scanning it. She clearly looks a little more relaxed, and I’m glad. It bugs me that I make people feel nervous and uptight, “Man, I’m really hungry. I’ve been waiting all day for this.” 

“Me too. I thought about texting you. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to intrude. You don’t really know me and I thought it might be rude to interrupt you,” shit, did I just admit that aloud? I thought you’re not supposed to actually tell a woman when you were thinking about her even before the first date. Ah, fuck it. I get the feeling this particular woman might enjoying knowing I was thinking about her. 

The look she gives me, the appreciation, makes my cock twitch and I shift under the table, “You should have. I was checking.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Bothering is acceptable,” She giggles a little, and in my head I cheer for myself. Bam! Nailed it! Got the girl to laugh! I look away from her for a second and pick up my menu, frowning at it, “Some day, I should learn Italian.” 

“You should, but today I’ll translate,” there’s something in her voice, a kind of amused teasing. Her expression is a quirked eyebrow and a half smile that somehow seems to find it endearing that I’m a grown adult who doesn’t know Italian. It’s been a damned long time since someone I just met felt comfortable enough to tease me, and I feel a bit of warmth seeping through my chest. 

“You speak Italian?” 

“Si.  L'ho imparato quando avevo dieci anni,” Christ, that was unbelievably sexy. She looks down at the menu and starts reading items and translating them for me. I’m torn between getting turned on by the way she sounds speaking Italian and being impressed that she’s fluent. Her accent - which although she hasn’t said anything, I’ve been to the US enough to know a New Yorker when I hear one - is perfect for speaking Italian. It makes me finally understand why women think my accent is sexy. It’s always just been normal to me, the way I speak, but the way she sounds just grabs me by the balls. Not only that, but the fact that she’s smart enough to know more than one language is incredibly attractive to me. 

“That is so sexy,” I say when she pauses, letting a little bit of lust put a scratch into my voice. I have to be careful. The whole fame thing can be really overwhelming for people and I don’t want to chase her off. I want to sink her in gradually, get her used to it. But I can’t help who I am and what I am, and at this point using my acting skills to help me translate my feelings to other people is second nature. I can be overwhelming, and even if I wasn’t famous, I’d still be hot, charming, and British. 

And humble. Oh so humble. 

Luckily, I’d landed on the right amount of my skills to apply, and she didn’t crack. Instead, she blushed prettily and tucked a springy auburn curl behind her ear. She tilts her head and a beam of warm sunshine falls across her nose, illuminating her skin. I notice a few small freckles there, a tiny constellation of dots scattered across her cheekbones and nose. The imperfection made me smile. 

Her hair looks so soft, just like her hand was, and I wanted to touch it. If she likes it, I’d want to sink my fingers into the lushness of it and listen to the noises she makes. I want to touch all of her, and I want to listen to her talk. Images flooded my brain and, surprisingly, not all of them are sexual. A lot of them are, though, and I find myself glad that telepathy isn’t a real thing. 

She kept reading me the menu, and after we make our choices I rang the bell to summon the waiter. She ordered for us in Italian, and after she was done I asked, “What was it that occationed you learning Italian?” 

“Oh, well, when I was younger - ten, since I know you didn’t understand when I told you earlier - my parents were very good friends with an Italian couple who’d recently moved to the US. My dad is an Engineer and my mom is a professor at Stonybrook, and this couple both taught at Stonybrook with her--,” 

“Sorry to interrupt, but where is Stonybrook?” 

“It’s on Long Island. That’s where I’m from.” 

“New York?” 

“Mhm. Anyway, so they’d just move to the US to work there and their kids didn’t speak English very well. So they’d practice English with me and I just started picking up Italian from hanging out with them. After they realized I was learning, they started to teach me on purpose. It really didn’t take that long before the three of us were chattering back and forth in both languages. I’m still friends with them, actually, and we went through all of high school together. We were all regents kids, so we took like four years of Italian together for the easy A.” 

It’s the most she’s spoken in one go since she got here, and I find myself hanging on all her words. I want to know more, “What does your mother teach?” 

“Cultural anthropology. My dad works at Brookhaven Lab developing materials.” 

“Those sound like two very different fields.” 

“They are. My parents are pretty much the definition of ‘opposites attract’. She’s an atheist, he’s Christian. She’s American, he’s Egyptian. She has dark skin, he has light skin. He’s a physical scientist, she’s a social scientist.” 

“Who has the red hair?” 

She grinned at me, “My grandma. Or, as my dad likes to joke, the milkman.” 

The waiter knocked lightly on the door and then brought in our drinks. We sipped them in companionable silence for a moment before she picked up the thread of the conversation, “So. Five sisters, huh?” 

“Yup. Five sisters,” being asked questions is always a little weird for me, because I find it so hard not to feel like it’s just an interview. But with her, I don’t mind as much. She’s already shared. There’s a back and forth, and besides, I want to get to know her. 

“How old are they?” 

“Uh, well, let’s see. Kara is two years older than me, so she’s 37. You probably already know that I’m 35. The twins - Emily and Haley - came four years later, so they’re 31. April came two more years after that, so, 29. Then Jenna is the baby at 24. Weirdly, she’s the one I know the best.” 

“Oh? Why’s that?” 

“Kara never wanted her stinky baby brother around, the twins are a tad insular, and April is just very quiet,” I watched her as I told her about my family, and noticed her trying to suppress a smile, “What?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...the idea of someone calling  _ People _ ’s sexiest man alive their ‘stinky baby brother’ is just kind of hilarious.” 

“Huh. It is, isn’t it? Well, family’s family. I love ‘em all, even if most of the time they’re a pain in my ass,” I smiled at her, and it prompted her to return the grin. The waiter came back in with our food, and we chatted between bites, “So what brings you to Venice? Carnivale?” 

“Nah, I’m studying at Ca’Foscari,” the university? How young was she? Something must have shown on my face, because she rushed on, “Getting my PhD. Well, technically I’m working with one of their computer scientists on some of the data from my dissertation. I actually go to Columbia.” 

“Wow, that’s...impressive,” there is no way a woman who is smart enough to be getting a PhD is going to find me - an actor - interesting enough to keep up for longer than a few days. The thought was immediately depressing to me, and I kicked my inner voice out. I’m not stupid, and I’m not ugly, and I’m not unsuccessful. I could do this, “So, I see your name is appropriate then.” 

She gives me a weird look, her eyes narrowing and her brows drawing together in a distinctly annoyed way that sets of warning bells in my head. Five sisters, and I’ve seen that look enough times to know that I somehow stepped in it. The tone of her voice confirms it for me, “Oh? Speak Arabic, do you?” 

“No, no. I just thought it was a really unique, pretty name, so I googled it,” something I said was right, and her face relaxed. My inner cheerleader was happy, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like my therapist’s urged me onto the next question, “Why did it seem to upset you when I made that comment?” 

“It, well, I wasn’t upset but...more...cautious. There are a lot of white men in the world who like to mansplain things to me, even if they’re very personal. I’m sorry, it’s a knee-jerk habit, especially in my field.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for standing up for yourself,” honestly, it was downright hot, but I didn’t think that was the right thing to say, “What’s your field?” 

“Astrophysics.” 

“Wait, you’re pursuing an astrophysics degree? Goddamn, you must be brilliant.” 

“Mhm,” she nodded, popping a bite of food in her mouth. I let myself get distracted by the slide of the fork in an out of her mouth while I contemplated exactly how out of my league this woman was, “What about you? What are you doing in Venice?” 

“Me? Oh, uh, well, I’m between projects at the moment and I was bored. I figured I’d take a vacation and see Carnivale and Venice.” 

“How long are you going to be sticking around?” 

My first impulse was to say ‘as long as you are’ but I managed to squash it and answer, “Two more weeks or so. I figured I’d take in Venice while I was here. Including eating my way through a large portion of the local restaurants.” 

I love to eat. It’s one of my favorite activities, outside of sex and making movies (in that order). I’ll try anything once, and Italian food is spectacular. There’s nowhere else in the world that makes carbonara correctly. We were both almost done with our meal, swallowing the last bites of our food, “You know, Venice seems like an odd choice. I thought the majority of your kind wintered in Tahiti or something.” 

Well, there it was. Time to address the elephant in the room, “My kind?” 

“You know, rich, hot, famous actors.” 

I gave her the most roguish grin I had, “You think I’m hot?” 

She made a cute little snorting noise, “Everyone thinks you’re hot.” 

“But do  _ you _ think I’m hot?” 

She looked me straight in the eyes and, I swear to god, actually said, “You might have played a role in a fantasy or two,” Woman, you’re killing me. That look on her face, the pulling up of one corner of her mouth, “Of course, I called you daddy in those scenes, too.” 

If I’d had water in my mouth, I would have choked. As it was, my dick was paying as much attention to her as the rest of me was, “Well, maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get to say it again some time.” 

She laughed and grinned at me, clearly teasing, “You hope.” 

“I absolutely do,” I pinned her with a stare, sweeping my eyes over every inch of her that was visible. I honestly had no intention of sleeping with her tonight. I actually liked this woman, so I needed to be sure that she didn’t get sucked in by the rest of my life and actually liked me, too. So I let her out of my stare and pulled the napkin out of my lap, wiped my mouth, dropped it onto the table, and switched the subject to one entirely less pleasant but more necessary, “To answer your question, I’ve spent my fair share of cold English winters in warm places. I’m not immune to the desire to not have toes that resemble ice cubes.” 

“You almost sound hesitant to answer.” 

“Well, we were having such a good time I didn’t want to ruin it by talking about my job and what goes with it.” 

“I’m not going to lie, it’s a little surreal. I was afraid I was going to turn into a squeaky fangirl when I saw you standing there.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with squeaky fangirls, but I was really hoping to have dinner with the funny, gorgeous woman I met last night instead of a squeaky fangirl.” 

“I’m just having the weirdest moment in my head.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, on the one hand, I remember how you were last night and you just seem so regular sitting here in front of me. It’s been pretty easy to forget the rest of it and just enjoy being here with you. On the other, well. I’m talking to Adrian, and Kisco, and Brant, and I have like a million questions. I don’t even follow celebrity gossip or really care what goes on, and I don’t want to ruin our fun by asking a bunch of fannish questions, but I’m insanely curious.” 

I took a sip of water to give myself a second to think. This, right here, this dichotomy that she was describing was why I normally don’t date fans. But there was something about her that made me want to try, so I thought about it for a minute before answering, “How about this? Save the questions up. Parcel them out little by little. Get to know me, Noah, the real, live person, and ask the questions over time.” 

“That’s a good plan. I especially liked the part of that plan where you said there’d be time to get to know you.” 

“Noticed that, did you?,” That’s me, Mr. Subtle. But I can’t ignore the glow I’m getting from the shy, happy smile on her face. 

“Uh-huh. Can I ask one now? Just one about famous-you?” 

One’s fair. How bad could one question be?,” Sure.” 

“It’s more of a statement, really. Explain the purple hair and the convertible.” 

I groan and rub a hand down my face, “It was one night!” 

“So? There’s a gif of it all over the internet!” 

“One corner of the internet,” I point out. Tumblr is the kind of place that attracts and repels all at once. Sometimes I can’t help checking out the tag of my name. Usually it only takes about ten minutes of scrolling before I’m running the other way. And yet, I can’t stop myself from eventually going back. 

“For me that’s basically the internet, but it’s interesting that you know that. It means they’re right, and you  _ are _ watching. Also, you’re dodging.” 

Yep. I am. But I appreciate that she called me on my bullshit, “I can’t believe  _ this _ is your one, burning question. Don’t you want to know my influences as an actor or my favorite movie to make or some kind of gossip about another celebrity?” 

“Do I look like an interviewer? If I want to know that I’ve got years of actual interviews I can watch on internet. Now quit dodging and give up the goods,” and evil smile crept across that beautiful mouth, “ _ daddy. _ ” 

I groaned aloud and tipped my head back. She would corner me with that joke. I sighed in resignation. At least the story was entertaining, “We were filing in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico for  _ Sandworld _ . We were bored out of our skulls and wanted to go out, but the nearest place with a pub was Roswell and it was like an hour and a half away.” 

“Ah, no Ubers or Taxis.” 

“Right, exactly. So someone had to be the DD and I pulled the short straw. We figured no one would recognize us because we were so far out in the stix, so we decided to just be normal people for a night. We had this older convertible on set for the movie and, in what proved to be just one of several horrible decisions I made that night, I stole the car from set because a co-star bet me $400 I wouldn’t do it.” 

“Cagey-ness as to which is noted.” 

“I’d expect nothing less. They did, after all, lose $400. We headed into Rosewell, and by the time the night was over I was the proud owner of an alien costume and purple hair,” she started to giggle, and her reaction bolstered me, “As we were leaving, some tourists noticed us and yelled my name. And I, drunk only on the excitement of the evening, put my hands in the air and yelled back. They were filming, and your gif was born.” 

She was full-on laughing now, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her. When her giggles faded she said, “Man, I wish I’d been there.” 

“Oh no you don’t, that was one night of entertainment in a long stretch of boring. Plus, my director was so angry with me when he saw the purple hair the next morning. He sent me straight to hair & makeup after lecturing me for like twenty minutes about the car,” she snorted out another laugh. 

“You might have deserved that.” 

“Oh, I definitely deserved it, but I sure as hell didn’t enjoy it.” 

“Yeah? And what would you enjoy?,” she gave him a sly smirk. 

“Having dessert with you.” 

“Here, or you want to go somewhere else?,” after a second’s pause she realized what her offer sounded like and rushed on, “I mean, there’s a fantastic little bakery nearby. Also I know where the best gelato places are.” 

I did the same calculus in my head that I always did when considering whether or not I could actually wander the streets unmolested. Venice wasn’t exactly an unknown hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and it was carnivale. But I hadn’t seen very many paparazzi since being here, and definitely hadn’t seen any tonight. I’d probably get stopped a couple of times, but other than that I probably wouldn’t see enough of a crowd to need Lance. 

“Yeah, it would be nice to take a walk. Let me just take care of the bill, and we can leave.” 


	3. Chapter 3: How to Tell if Your New Man is The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kisses, best friends back home, and all the warm fuzzies of time spent with a new person you really like. The end of the first date from Akila's perspective, a call to her best friend back home in New York, and an unplanned lunch date with Noah make Akila a very happy woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need you all to know that there is really a Ca'Foscari university in Venice and while they don't have a PhD physics program they DO have an extensive PhD computer science program. ;) I need you to know that I spent like an hour researching this random university in Venice for a piece of fiction. 
> 
> If only I was that good at researching for my own thesis. x.x

Noah’s arm was comfortably warm where it laid on my shoulders. After stuffing our faces with delicious Italian pastries, we’d left the bakery and we were walking to one of the canals to catch a water taxi. We walked together, and I was tucked against his side, a package of italian pastries hanging from the fingertips of my free hand. He smelled fantastic and felt even better, but my brain was still caught in that strange place where it kept waffling back and forth between ‘guy I was on a date with’ and ‘holy shit that’s Noah Vintor’. I honestly didn’t enjoy it, and I wanted the second of those two feelings to stop bothering me. I supposed if I had more time with him I’d probably get used to it. For now, I just ignored it and tried not to giggle like an idiot every time he said something cute. 

We found a taxi driver, and he helped me down into the boat, his strong arms lifting from the dock and setting me down gently in the boat. I didn’t usually enjoy being man-handled, but honestly, the sexy sky-high heels I’d worn made getting in and out of the little boat a precarious affair. Getting treated like a princess for once was kind of nice. 

We took a seat and told the driver where we were going. This time, instead of dropping a drunk Noah off at the hotel, he was having the driver drop me off first. I snuggled up against his warm body, as much for protection from the cool wind as wanting to be close to him. We sat in comfortable silence on the boat, his fingers lazily toying with my curls as we watched Venice slide by. It’s nice - a little too nice, if I’m being honest. There’s no way someone like Noah Vintor is going to have a relationship with a civilian, so I better enjoy it while it’s going on. 

The taxi drops us off, and we walking hand in hand down the street until I stop in front of my door. The weak yellow glow from the door light casts strange shadows on his face, exaggerating the cut lines of his brow and cheekbones. The longish front section of his hair has falling from its carefully slicked-back place to cover his eye, and I realize I like it better that way. In the weak light of the street light, his hair looks so dark that it’s almost black; and I can’t really see the emerald of his eyes, either. But I can see the expression in them, and he looks happy. Content. I look down at our entwined fingers and smile. 

“Noah, this was amazing. So much more than I was expecting,” he smiles and tucks a stray coil of hair behind my ear. 

“What were you expecting?,” his voice is low and quiet, and the intimacy of it draws me in. 

“I don’t know, really. Maybe a quick, awkward dinner with someone who may or may not have been a troll and may or may not have been as charming sober as they were drunk.” 

“So, certainly not a nice, long, not at all awkward dinner and dessert with someone who’s definitely charming and not at all a troll?,” he grinned at his own joke, leaning a little closer to me. Please, please kiss me! 

“No, not a date like that,” I’m smiling again, because I haven’t been able to stop smiling around him. 

“And not romantic doorstep goodnight kisses?,” he so close that I can finally see the green of his eyes again. God, he’s so fucking gorgeous. There’s something satisfying about knowing his looks aren’t an illusion. 

I shrug and lift one corner of my mouth, “I like surprises.” 

He lets go of my hand, and brings both of his up, sliding his fingers along my neck to cup my head and gently run his thumbs across my cheeks. Jesus christ, this is really happening. I’m going to kiss Noah Vintor. 

My mom is going to have a heart attack. 

His mouth lowers to mine and, I have to tell you, those women in the movies are not acting. He’s soft and tentative at first, gently pressing out mouths together until I sway against him and he deepens our kiss. Sparks go directly from my mouth to my clit, and I press my thighs together. His tongue flicks against mine, his teeth nipping gently at my lips, and his hands slide around my waist. The sparks get bigger, and I know I either have to stop this now, or I’m going to drag his big ass up to my room. I’m not sure yet if that’s what I want or not, so I slow the kiss and draw away. I knew if I could see myself, my eyes would be glazed with pleasure, and a satisfied smile would be sitting on my lips. I rest my forehead against his and inhale slowly and deeply, savoring the smell of him. 

“Good?,” he asks. I guess actors need validation. 

I nod, rocking my forehead against his, and kiss him again because I can’t stop myself. What if I never see him again? What if I don’t get the chance to kiss him again? But there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to sleep with him until I can be sure he isn’t, well,  _ acting _ . So I make the kiss shorter than the last. I look up at him and gently touch his cheek, “Thank you. This...everything, the whole night, it was amazing.” 

“I know I’m supposed to wait to ask this, but I can’t help it. Is it possible you’d like to see me again?” 

“Yes!,” I yelp, a little too loudly before I lower my voice, “As enthusiastically as possible without being weird, yes.” 

“I like your weird.” 

“I like yours too,” he steps away from me and squeezes my hand before letting go. 

“Goodnight, Akila.” 

“ ‘Night, Noah,” he stands a few feet away, making sure I get into my building ok, and I give him a little wave before shutting the door. Then I immediately race up the steps to my place, going as fast as I’m able to in the heels. I dig my phone out of my purse and open whatsapp. 

My best friend, Charla, and I share an apartment back home in New York. It’s only about nine here, which means it’s 3:00 there, so she’s still at work. I know she won’t care, so I call her anyway. I need to gush to someone, and Charla’s brain is a vault. Nothing comes out unless she has permission. My mother, on the other hand, would be telling TMZ I was marrying Noah Vintor before we even finished the phone call. 

Charla picks up on the third ring, “Hey! What’s up chickee?” 

“You will never guess what my life is right now,” I reply, and I flopped down onto my bed and kicked off the red torture devices on my feet. 

“Oh?,” she said, her voice solicitous. 

“Are you somewhere private? Because no one can know what I’m about to tell you.” 

“Um, hang on a sec,” I love that she doesn’t even question why that is, I just heard some shuffling and then a door, “Ok, I’m in a conference room. Go for it.” 

“So I was at carnivale, right? Like I told you I’d be, and I helped this drunk guy get back to his hotel, which - by the way - was totally fancy. Anyway, he was really entertaining so I took a chance and left him my name and number after he passed out.”

“Ooooo, was he cute?” 

“Well I couldn’t tell because he was wearing a mask. But he texts me the next day and asks if me if he can take me to dinner. So I say ok and I show up at the restaurant and you’ll never guess who it was.” 

“That makes me think that I should know who it was. It wasn’t that weird guy from when you first got there, was it?” 

“No! It was fucking Noah Vintor!” 

She gave a squeal of disbelief, “How the hell?” 

“He’s in Italy on vacation. Oh man, you would not believe it. He’s just as hot in person, and really funny, and the accent...oh, it kills me. You know how I am about British accents. And he was polite and kind and generous.” 

“Did you kiss him? Wait, why are you not doing the horizontal tango with him right now?” 

“Yes, I kissed him,” I closed my eyes, remember the feel of it, “It was so good, he’s a really good kisser, and because I didn’t want to just end up another notch. If he likes me, we’ll keep spending time together, but if he’s just trying to score then I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. It’s just so...crazy-fan-ish.” 

“You’re nuts,” she stated, matter-of-factly. 

“Whatwhy?” 

“Because he’s a famous actor. There’s no way you can have a relationship with him. Sleep with him for the experience, because you’re young and in Italy. Trap and release my friend.” 

“I don’t want to though, I really like him. He didn’t even try to sleep with me, I think he really likes me too.” 

“How do you know it’s not just the magic of him being famous? How do you know he’s not just acting?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I think because I obviously must have felt something when I took him back to his hotel. I never do that, I normally don’t trust people enough. I trusted him though, and that’s something. Plus most of the night I didn’t even think about who he was, you know? I was just laughing with him and talking about all kinds of stuff. He just feels so comfortable to me.” 

“It sounds legit, but just remember, he’s an actor, and a good one at that. It’ll be really easy for him to pretend.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, but for now I’m just going to ride my little cloud of happy.” 

“Oh definitely. You’ll also have to keep me informed of everything, obviously. Send me a selfie of you guys or something.” 

“I’ll try” 

“Ok honey, I have to get back to work. Love you!” 

“Love you too, later!,” we hung up, and I got out of my dress and into my PJs. I watched some Netflix and then, just as I was getting ready to sleep, I got a text from Noah. ‘ _ Goodnight beautiful, sleep well _ .’ I sent back ‘ _ You too, gorgeous _ .’ I went to sleep happy. 

***

Even though the next day was Saturday, I was in the lab early, neck deep in work in a sad attempt to work on my thesis and not think about Noah. In truth, the thesis was mostly written, but I was seeing some bugs in my code and I couldn’t fix them. So I’d contacted a friend of mine, and she suggested I come to Venice for a while to work on it. My PI agreed that it was best done in person, so I wrote a grant, and here I am. Math and science I was great at, and I loved astrophysics, but I sucked at writing code, and this program had been part of the non-academic dissemination and impact on my original grant proposal. So even if my theoretical work and paper were mostly done, the program needed to be finished before I could graduate. 

So when my phone buzzed around lunch time, I was more than ready to take a break. I smiled to myself when I saw that the text was from Noah, ‘ _ How’s your day going? _ ’

_ Pretty good. I’ve gotten a lot done.  _

_ Are you at the lab?  _

_ Yep. Sadly.  _

_ You want to take a break for lunch? Hand-delivered.  _

_ Jesus yes, I’ll meet you down at the dock at the Grand Canal entrance.  _

_ Be there in 20 minutes.  _

I tried to get back into my work, but my stride was broken, so I ditched the lab after ten minutes and went downstairs to watch the traffic on the canal while I waited. There were tourists and delivery guys floating past on their boats, and a vaporetto chugged along, leaving from the same station we’d left from the other night. It was chaotic and peaceful all at once and, like most of Venice, oddly surreal. Meeting Noah had just added to that general sense of unreality that permeated all of Venice. I’m American. We have nothing like this in the US, and we don’t really have anything all that old in the US either. But Venice, by necessity because of how it’s built, has almost been stuck in time. It’s so perfectly aged that it almost feels like something you’d see in a theme park. Hell, in Vegas, you  _ can _ see a fake version. The real thing is gorgeous, but it feels like a strange place apart from the rest of the world in a way that other old cities don’t. Even Rome, with its 2,000 year old monuments and ancient history, doesn’t carry this same dream-like quality. 

I’m still wool-gathering about Venice when Noah’s taxi pulls up. The sight of him, tall and handsome in his long winter trench coat and jeans, pulls me out of my own thoughts and makes me smile at him. He smiles back, his long legs making it easy for him to get out of the boat. The driver leaves as Noah and I pull each other into a hug. He’s warm and smells like fresh laundry and spiced male aftershave. And lunch, because he has a bag of food in his hand. 

I turn to walk into the building and he catches my hand and says, “Hey, wait.” 

When I turn, He brings me close and kisses me with that same toe-curling intensity he had last night. I can’t help it when I say, “Damn.” 

“I’ve been waiting all day to do that.” 

“Hm, see, I knew you had ulterior motives for bringing me food.” 

“It sounds nicer if you call it motivation,” I can hear the laughter in his voice. 

“If I did that, what would I tease you about?” 

“I’m sure you’d find something,” I give a small laugh and turn into the building. He follows close behind. 

As we walk down the hallways, they’re mostly empty, but there are a few people. Some do a double take as he walks by, not sure if it’s really him or not. He doesn’t stop, so I don’t either, but I do ask, “Does that ever get weird?” 

“What, people knowing who I am wherever I go?” 

“Yeah. It’s like the whole world is  _ Cheers  _ or something,” I use my badge to open the door to my lab, and he follows me into the cool, dim space. There are a lot of computers in here and we keep it air conditioned even in the winter because of how much heat they put out. The dimness is just geek preference, as are the bottles of caffeinated beverages laying about on the desks. None are open or near any of the important machines, but what would nerds be without our caffeine? 

“Sometimes, yeah,” he says, putting the bag on the empty table in the corner that I nod my head at when he gives me a questioning look and holds up the food bag, “Sometimes I forget I’m famous, but then I go someplace and people mob me or look at me weird and I remember. Or I have to take my bodyguard somewhere and I remember that most people don’t need bodyguards.” 

“You have a bodyguard?,” we both grab chairs and drag them over to the table and settle in with the food. 

“Yeah. His name is Lance. I just didn’t bring him because, well, a restaurant and a college on a Saturday aren’t really places I feel like I’d need him. I like to leave him behind when I can,” he shrugs, “I’m not complaining, mind you, if I didn’t have fans I’d be a starving artist struggling in obscurity somewhere. 

“Starving artist, huh?,” I have him a look, quirking an eyebrow because we both know that he comes from a family that’s filthy rich. He’d never starved a day in his life, and never would. 

He has the good grace to blush a little and, damn, is it cute, “Ok, maybe not starving, but you get the idea.” 

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, shoving sandwiches in our faces, “Damn, this is really good. Where did you get it?” 

He shrugs, “A little place near my hotel. I don’t remember what it’s called, but I’ll point it out to you. So, tell me about all of this.” 

“The whole lab?,” I tease, taking in his broad gesture to the rest of the room. 

“Well, maybe only your part of it.” 

“It’s one of the computing labs. I’m working with a friend of mine on a piece of software for my thesis. I’m not all that great at programming, so I had to enlist help. I’m actually almost done with the thesis itself, I’m just stuck on the public outreach part.” 

“What’s your thesis on?” 

“Space roar,” he gives me a blank look so I explain, “How much do you know about physics?” 

He smirks at me, “About as much as you know about acting.” 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I played Maria in  _ The Sound of Music _ in high school and I was great at it,” he just gives me a look and purposefully chews a bite of sandwich, “Yeah, ok, I get it. Ok, so everything in space emits radiation and noise and all of that. A few years ago, NASA spent a balloon into the upper atmosphere to listen for the leftover radio signals from really old stars.” 

“Ok, with you so far.” 

“Cool. Well, instead of that they found really strong radio waves and we don’t know where they’re coming from. Nothing we’ve found yet makes any sense.” 

“Are you looking for the source?” 

“No. I’m trying to solve the problem. See, space roar makes it impossible to hear the signals the scientists were looking for to begin with. But, I had an idea. Waves cancel out other waves.” 

“You lost me.” 

“Hmmm...ok, it’s like...,” I cast about for a way to explain it that he’ll be familiar with, and I pull off my necklace and use it as a pendulum, swinging it back and forth until the motion is steady, “So this is a wave. It’s the same kind of motion, just take my word for it. As long as I swing my hand this way, it’s fine. But! If I swing my hand in direct opposition to that, see? The motion stops because the two things cancel each other out.” 

“Ah! Like equal and opposite reactions! I remember that one from school.” 

“Yes, exactly! And space roar is a radio signal, so it’s a wave. I figured out how to filter it out by using an exactly opposite type of wave. Kind of like noise cancelling headphones for space radio waves. So I’ve done all that math and research and experiments, but my filter software still has bugs to work out before I can toss it out to the rest of the scientific community.” 

“You’re just gonna give it away?” 

“Yeah, how else is science going to get done? You’ve gotta share. My parents are pretty adamant about that too - no one owns scientific discovery.” 

“Lockheed Martin might disagree with you.” 

“Well, they’re war-mongering assholes who don’t do their own blue-sky science so they can disagree all they want,” I shoot him a look that dares him to argue with me. 

Instead, he looks confused and asks, “Blue-sky?” 

“Oh, uh, curiosity based. Just research for research’s sake. It usually ends up being the sector that puts out the biggest discoveries, but it’s underfunded because big corporations like Lockheed can’t immediately make money off of it. That’s why the rest of us have to scramble and fight over grant money.” 

“Huh. I had no idea.” 

“Most people don’t,” I shrugged, “Sorry, I think I might have gone overboard there for a second.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I like it when people let you see what they’re really passionate about. So don’t hold back,” a small smile graces his face, and my thoughts move from annoyance at the politics of science to wanting to kiss his hot self again. 

“What are you really passionate about?” 

He’s quiet for a second, “It’s been a long time since someone asked me that.” 

“Really?,” genuine surprise colors my voice. It seems like such a simple question that it would be common. 

“They kind of just assume, because why would I be an actor if I didn’t love it? As you pointed out, it’s not like I need the money.” 

“Do you love it?” 

“Mostly, yeah. I like that I had to work for it. You don’t get to the level I’m at unless you have some kind of talent or appeal. There are bits about it that I’m passionate about. Some projects more than others, you know? And I only take roles that I can get some enjoyment out of it. Whether it’s art for art’s sake, a challenge, or just plain fun.” 

“But what’s the thing that gets you babbling?” 

I get another genuine grin from him, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I’m kind of a talker.” 

I laugh, “Yeah, you kind of are. It’s nice. Soothing.” 

He takes my hand in his, threading his fingers through mine. I run my thumbs over his skin. It’s surprisingly soft, and his nails are manicured. It’s a good thing, because I don’t trust guys who don’t keep their nails short and hangnail-free. Judge me all you want, but that shit hurts if it catches on certain sensitive skin. 

“Passionate,” his tone is thoughtful, and he’s staring off into space in the general direction of our linked hands, “There’s causes I donate to, things I think are important. There’s an expectation, you know? So I pick things I think are important. Which, just so you know, now includes blue-sky grants,” he looks at me and we both laugh a little, “But I wouldn’t say that I’m passionate about those things.” 

“What, then?” 

“You have to promise not to laugh,” oh, now this was going to be interesting. 

“I promise. And I won’t tell anyone, either.” 

“I like to buy old houses, historical ones and interesting ones with weird layouts, and renovate them.”

“Really?,” well, that wasn’t what I had expected. 

“Yeah,” and I see it, the spark, the thing that happens when someone is talking about something they really love, “I bought this house in London, it’s the one I live in now, and it was a wreck. I did the whole thing myself. Well, I mean, I had to hire help because with my schedule it would never get done if I didn’t, but I made every decision myself. Paint colors, layout, all of it.” 

“What’s your favorite part?” 

“The kitchen,” not even a speck of hesitation when he says it, “It has these great reclaimed floors, and a greenhouse, and, well you’ll see.” 

I’ll see? Did that mean he wanted this to go past when he left Venice? Was this more than just a vacation sidebar to him? I thought of myself going to London and the whole thing resulted in a splatter of emotions ranging from elation to terror. I pushed it to the side for the moment to dissect later when I was alone, “How did you put a greenhouse in your kitchen?” 

“Skill,” he joked, “It lets in so much light. I love to cook, so I put a lot of effort into the kitchen.” 

“Well that’s perfect, because I hate cooking. I’m awful at it,” where the hell did  _ that _ come from? I’m going to blame him with all of his ‘when you see it’ talk. 

“I’ll have to cook for you sometime then.” 

“I’d like that,” Our eyes met again and the usual warmth passed between us. But we were in a lab, and I couldn’t risk messing around with him in here. Moreover, I didn’t want our first time to be in the lab. Although, admittedly, the mental image of being bent over one of the tables, his cock sliding in and out of me, it had me squirming in my seat. Best get him out of here before I got in trouble, so I check the time on my phone. We’d been shooting the shit for more than an hour, “Hey, I hate to cut this short, but...” 

“You have work, I get it,” he stood up and wiped his mouth with one of the napkins from the bag, and started to shove the garbage into the empty bag. I took it from him, tossing it into the garbage in the hall as we exited. I walked down to the dock with him to wait for the taxi. 

“So,” I asked, a little hesitant, “Do you want to get together again tonight?”

I was rewarded with a smile that lit up his face, “Do birds fly?” 

“What kind of saying is that? That’s not a thing!,” I laughed. 

“Is now. Well, it would be if a paparazzi heard me say it,” he rolled his eyes, but he still had that playful grin on his face. 

“Ok you pick the place. Text me the details, and I’ll see you tonight,” the taxi showed up, and Noah nodded his agreement, stepping towards the taxi. I reached out and caught his arm, “Hey, wait a sec.” 

I pulled him to me for a kiss, just as he’d done when he’d gotten here, only this time I was the one tugging on his coat to bring his mouth down to mine. He happily indulged me, pulling me flush against his body, and not letting go until the driver of the water taxi yelled something rude in Italian at him. I pushed back, a little dazed. 

“You better go.” 

“Yeah, I’d better,” he didn’t move. The driver threatened to leave. 

“No really,” I pulled away, “He’s going to leave without you.” 

Noah cursed and gave me another quick kiss before he hopped into the taxi, waving to me as it drove off. I go a text from him when I got upstairs with the details for dinner, and fifteen minutes later I got another one that included a selfie of him in front of some church somewhere in the city. 

That one, I forwarded to Charla. 


	4. Chapter 4: Tricks to Drive Your Man Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This swings back and forth between their perspectives (after like...a break. Not randomly.). It's been two weeks since their dates, and both of them are antsy to get their hands on each other. Yet, they haven't. This is their first time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok here's the goods. There's loads of sex in this chapter, have fun, lol. It's sweet and hot and fun and exploratory.

Two weeks. Two long goddamned weeks. Noah had pushed his vacation out another week to spend more time with me, and I was climbing the walls. Why? Well, because Noah and I hadn’t had sex yet and I was horny and confused and didn’t like how it felt. He kissed me all the time - and cuddled, and flirted - but I still couldn’t get a read on him. He hadn’t made a move on me, keeping a careful distance whenever things started to heat up, and I was beginning to think he wasn’t actually attracted to me. It would break my heart because I was becoming dangerously attached, even after only two short weeks, but I couldn’t be with a guy who didn’t want me like that. I just didn’t understand it, because I’d felt him get turned on before, so why didn’t he try to get me naked? Tonight we’d decided to have another night in, and I was going to get answers. 

Those were the thoughts flying through my head as I paced back and forth in front of the door. My apartment wasn’t very large - the door opened directly into the combined kitchen and living room area, with my bedroom and bathroom behind a door off of this room - and the space between the back of the couch and the front door was the only real room I had for paranoid pacing and overthinking. I was so deep in my pacing and thinking that when he knocked, I jumped a mile and cursed. 

Noah stood on the other side of the door wearing perfectly fitting jeans, a soft-looking light blue sweater, and a leather jacket. I suppressed a groan because I was a sucker for leather jackets. His dark brown hair was a little longer now, but he stopped wearing it in that slicked-back style after I’d started mussing it up by running my fingers through it. I liked it longer and sometimes in his eyes. His green eyes looked happy, the little crinkles in the corner standing out because he was smiling. 

I let him in, and as soon as he was in and the door was closed I blurted out the conclusions of my pacing, “Are you attracted to me?” 

Looking at me like he was trying to decide how to best defuse a bomb, he gently put the little bag of DVDs he carried onto the small table by the door. Then he came over to me and gave me a soft, gentle kiss, “Hello, darling.” 

“Don’t turn the British on me, I’m not getting distracted by charm. I mean, it’s ok if you’re not, but you’ve gotta stop kissing me and touching me if you don’t want me because it’s killing me. We can keep hanging out if you want, but you’ve gotta stop with the flirting,” He grabbed me, and this time when he kissed me it wasn’t the gentle, passionate-but-chaste kisses he normally gave me. Oh, no, I felt this one everywhere. His hands grabbed my ass and pulled me tight against him so I could feel his cock pressing into me. His tongue slid into my mouth, and he delved hungrily. No, this was a kiss with purpose. This kiss meant business. 

“I am most assuredly attracted to you,” he said once he ended the kiss. He didn’t let go of me though, he kept me pressed firmly against him with his hands on my ass. I found that I liked having him there. It felt good, just like the rest of him. 

“Then what haven’t you--?” 

“Tried to sleep with you?,” He nipped at my mouth again, like he couldn’t stand to be this close and not kiss me, “Because you’re a fan--” 

“--a fan of your hands on my ass,” I interrupted, unable to keep my nervous babbling in check. 

He smiled and gave me a little squeeze, but continued, “A fan of my work. I’m famous, and it’s overwhelming for a lot of people. I wanted to give you time to get to know me so you could make the choice to sleep with me based on the real me, and not whatever version you had in your head based on my public persona.” 

“Oh. Huh. Well. That actually makes sense.” 

“It’s been a fucking long two weeks.” 

“Amen. I’m deciding. You, me, now.” 

“Yeah? You’re sure?” 

I nodded vigorously. He was right, he was a different person than the one I’d assumed when I hadn’t known him. Knowing him had made me want him more, not less, and now I was done waiting, “By the way? That jacket. God, it’s so good.” 

“You like leather jackets, huh?,” there was a tone of amusement in his voice that I chose to ignore. 

“Probably a little too much, but I’d like that one better if it was somewhere other than on your body,” he let go of me for a second and stripped it off, dumping it onto the couch. For good measure he yanked the sweater off, too. My mouth went dry when I saw what he looked like up close. The movies were different - I knew as well as most people that the workouts and eating routines that actors engaged in to look so cut in movies weren’t sustainable, so that’s not what he looked like. Plus the man had eaten his way through half of Venice. But instead of being a negative, it added an appealing softness to him. I could see the muscles he worked hard for there under it all, and he still had indentations where his hip bones were, but he just looked, well, thick. 

I wanted to devour him. 

“I...I’m staring, I’m sorry,” I ripped my eyes from his body to his face, and found a laughing smirk there. 

“Stare all you want, princess, as long as you keep looking at me like you don’t know where to start but you’re damn sure gonna figure it out.” 

I laughed, “Am I that obvious?” 

“A little, but it’s ok.” 

“Come here,” I growled, and he pulled me back against him, sealing his mouth to mine again. I felt his hands on my ass again, and then...I squeaked and broke our kiss as he boosted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He didn’t even have to strain to pick me up because he was so strong. It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen and I mumbled against his mouth, “Christ, I’m in trouble.” 

I felt, more than heard, his laugh as we moved towards the bedroom, “Me, too.” 

***

I knew it was going to be ok when Akila looked at me after I yanked my shirt off. Her pupils dilated, and she licked her lips. I could hear her breath catch. I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to see her, to know what was under that hot little jersey sundress she was wearing. But the look on her face was clearly one that said she wanted me, Noah Vintor the man, and not Noah Vintor the product. I didn’t know why, but I needed her to see me as myself, not as my public persona. I felt safe and calm around her, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt safe and calm. I wanted her to stay for as long as I could convince her to, because everything felt right when we were together. So I boosted her up, and walked us into the bedroom. 

I’m a lot of things, but unaware of what I look like and what I can do isn’t one of them. So when I hold her to me, crawl onto the bed, and gently lay her on her back, I appreciate the moan that I feel in her throat and take the swell of pride as my due. I break our kiss for a second to ask, “What was that moan for?” 

She immediately calls me on my bullshit, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know the whole lift and carry and lay on the bed thing isn’t a good move.” 

I laugh and grin at her, “Alright, you caught me. I might be just a little aware.” 

“Say ‘just a little’ again,” she does this sometimes, when she thinks something sounds particularly good in a British accent, so I oblige and repeat myself, “God, your accent just _ does things _ to me.” 

I know. You don’t come away from years of voice and acting lessons without an awareness of what a voice can do to people. And by people, I mainly mean women. I kiss a trail up her neck to her ear, tasting all that warm, brown skin, and suck on her earlobe, “If the accent gets you wet, then imagine what me ‘doing things’ to the rest of you is going to feel like.” 

“What do you think I’ve been doing all week?,” the admission that she’s been fantasizing about me sends blood straight to my cock, making it even more painfully hard, but I can’t resist teasing her more, because apparently I’m five years old or something. 

“I don’t know, staring at my ass?,” I look down to see her reaction and she covers her face and groans before dropping her hands. 

“I can’t believe you noticed!,” My lady isn’t subtle, and I am equally surprised she thought she was hiding it. 

“You get this look on your face like you want to eat me whole, in the best way possible.” 

“Christ, it’s going to be awhile before I can look you in the eyes. I might actually expire from embarrassment.” 

“Don’t do that,” I suck and lick her neck some more, hearing a satisfying catch in her breath, “I like it. I like that I affect you that way.” 

She drags her nails down my back and tucks her fingers under the waist of my jeans. Her nails on my skin send shards of pleasure through me. The sharp, intense kind that makes me want her to scratch harder. Oh, baby girl, don’t go there yet. You don’t know what you’re waking up. I can’t help but push against her hands, and she arches, grinding our crotches together, making my jeans rub against my cock. Fucking hell, I really am in trouble, “You’re affecting me all kinds of ways at the moment.” 

I have no reply to that, since this is a doing and not a saying kind of moment. I kiss her again, claiming the sweetness of her mouth for myself, and push back against her circling hips. I pull away after a second, sliding my hand up the inside of her stockinged leg, giving her plenty of time to stop me. There’s still a functioning part of my brain that wants to give her time to make sure she’s making the right decision. But she doesn’t stop me, and my hand keeps going up, up, up under that purple dress. 

Until I catch the edge of her stockings and realize that they aren’t stockings, they’re goddamned thigh highs. There is no more perfect aesthetic in all the world than a woman in thigh highs, and no article of clothing gets me hotter. I groan against her mouth. She breaks the kiss long enough to say, “Thigh highs good?” 

“Better than leather jackets,” I reply, putting out mouths together, and letting my hand continue on its journey. Silky stocking turns into silky, soft skin, and I can’t resist running my fingers over it. I pull away a little to watch her reactions, and move my hand further up. 

When I get to the bend of her thigh, she blurts out, “Noah, _ please _.” 

I laugh to myself, because apparently I’m taking too long for my impatient woman, “No need for begging. Not yet, anyway.” 

I let my tone go wicked, full of dirty promises. I have a million fantasies and some of them do, indeed, involve begging. But not today. Today, I move my fingers, sliding two of them down the top of her slit, rubbing circles around the hard nub of her clit, before dipping down. I watch her reactions, varying my pressure in response to them until I have her eagerly rocking her hips against my hand. Before I go further though, I want her skin against mine. 

“Akila, baby,” I coax. 

“Mggghhh,” I can’t help my laugh at the distracted sound she makes, but I don’t stop touching her. Lust glazed eyes open and look up at me. 

“I want to see you. Take the dress off,” but because I am the man that I am, I don’t stop playing with her. She nods vigorously and manages to get the dress off. Her bra follows it to the ground, and she’s laying under me in nothing but her thigh highs. Bright sunshine shows me every delicious curve of her body. Her rounded shoulders and heavy, full breasts with their hard brown nipples. The hourglass of her waist, and her round hips. The warm sunshine showed me the softness of the skin on her flat stomach. Well, mostly flat. She had just enough softness there that her hip bones didn’t jut out, “So beautiful.” 

Those were the only words I had. I bent down to kiss her again. I wanted to be inside her so badly, but I needed to make her come first. So I change tactics, filling her with my middle finger first, and then slipping my ring finger in next to it. She’s unbelievably wet, and it isn’t long before that wetness covers my hand. I find the spot inside her, the part above her public bone that’s a bit different in texture, and hook my fingers against it. Her mouth is against mine still, and I swallow her moan. Her hips are grinding like she can’t help but move, and she’s holding onto my arm for dear life. 

I pull away to nuzzle her ear and shift my position, “I need to taste you.” 

“Yes!,” is the most coherent answer I’m going to get out of her at the moment, so I keep my fingers inside her, but start kissing my way down her body. I stop to pay attention to her breasts, mounding one of them with my free hand and sucking the nipple, flicking it with my tongue until I get a moan out of her. Christ, she has fantastic breasts. I’m going to have to spend more time on that particular part of her anatomy, but for now, I kiss the spot between them, licking and tasting the salt of her skin. I kiss my way down her body until I get to my goal. 

I pay close attention to her when I get my mouth on her, swirling my tongue around her clit and sucking gently. I keep my fingers inside her while I work on her clit with my tongue. God, I love this. I love the salty tang of her, the taste that is uniquely hers. I love the way she smells, and I love the way she reacts to me. Going down on women is one of my favorite parts of sex, but it’s been so long since I was with someone I truly cared about that I’d forgotten how it felt to make some you cared for feel so good. And I want her to feel good, because if she doesn’t like round 1, I won’t get round 2 - and I need round 2...and 3...and more. 

Now she’s making noise, and she can’t stop the incoherent sounds that are coming out of her mouth. I feel her fingers in my hair, grabbing it and pushing me against her. Yes, baby, that’s it. Show me how much you like it. Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come. I want her to come, and she obviously likes what I’m doing, so I don’t stop. I pick up speed on my fingers though, pressing a little harder. It nets me a louder noise. 

“Noah!,” she cries, hips twisting and nearly cracking me in the noise with her public bone. Her pussy clamps down hard on my hand, and she nearly rips my hair out by the roots. I cock jumps when I think of how it’ll feel to make her come while I’m inside her. To feel her clamp down hard like that around me. I moan against her skin, keeping my mouth on her to draw out her orgasm. 

When it’s clear it’s passed, I give her a second, kissing her thighs and her pussy lips and slowly sliding my fingers in and out until her hips start to roll again. This time, I wrap one of my arms around her hips so I don’t get clocked in the face when she comes again. I push my fingers harder and faster against her g-spot, and use my tongue on her clit again. 

This time, she gets there much faster. And when she comes, she _ comes _. I’ve been with women who have squirted before. Not many, but a few. But Akila? Akila gushes, the hot liquid flooding my mouth and dripping down my chin to make a puddle on the bed below her. Good galloping Christ, I’m going to need to watch that happen with my cock inside her. A string of expletives fly out of her mouth, and she sits up halfway, holding herself up by leaning back on her hands. I do not move my mouth or fingers off of her, little spurts following the big ones while her pussy contracts around my thrusting fingers. I manage to avoid getting smacked in the face this time too, so when she drops back onto the bed, I give her the minute to cool down again. 

But she nudges me with her thigh and smiles down at me as she says, “Hey. You. Get up here, I want to touch you.” 

“But you taste so good,” I replied, giving her cunt a long, slow lick. She shuddered when my tongue ran over her clit. 

“I feel good too,” Well, can’t argue with that. The woman wants my cock inside her and I’m too much of a gentleman to not give a lady what she wants. 

“Ok, you win,” I dropped a kiss on her thigh and got up, wiping my face on my arm. Some women like the taste of themselves on their man’s mouth, but in my opinion it isn’t the best first time move. I pulled off my boots, socks, and jeans before I joined her on the bed again. As hot as it was to see her come like that, I had to go home in those jeans later and I don’t want to get them in the wet spot - well, wet puddle. I mentally congratulate myself on being the cause of that puddle. 

“Do you always go commando?,” she asks while I’m undressing. 

I shake my head, “I normally wear boxer-briefs, but I forewent them in the hopes this would happen.” 

“Great minds think alike,” she said, a knowing smirk on her face. 

“Horny minds think alike,” I joke, but a surge of warmth goes through. I’ve gone through a lot of healing since my ex, but it always seems to take me by surprise when a woman wants me for me. Not the product, but for Noah, the man. My personality, and my body. I have insecurities just like everyone else, but the look on her face while she watches me, lip caught between her teeth, soothes them. 

“You’re too far away. Come back over here,” she crooks her finger at me, and I go. 

***

Noah is literally the hottest man I’ve ever seen in person. The bright sunshine that floods my room picks up on the chestnut highlights in his hair and the emerald bits in his eyes. He stands over me, strong and tall, a sexy as fuck smirk on his face while he watches my eyes eat their way down his body. 

That’s why he doesn’t miss my reaction to his cock. I feel my eyebrows raise and my mouth open a little. I have no idea if that damned thing will fit, but I sure as fuck want to try. I hope to God he knows what to do with it. Considering how he is with his tongue and fingers, chances are good that he knows what to do with this cock. All eight or nine thick as hell inches of it. I crook my finger and say, “Come here.” 

He joins me on the bed again, and before he can go further away, I pull him to me for a kiss. He’s above me, on his hands and knees, my legs laying open for him. I run my hands over him, feeling the texture of his skin and the tickle of the hair that coats his chest and stomach. I trail my fingers along the V of his hips, and then wrap my fist around him. He moans into my mouth, pushing forward into the circle of my hands. I pull his hips towards me by gently tugging his cock down, and his body follows. 

“Akila,” he says, voice hoarse, nudging his face against my cheek, licking and sucking my neck. I probably was going to have a mark later, and the thought made me weirdly happy. 

“Hm,” I acknowledged him, wondering why he hadn’t already pushed himself into me. 

“Baby we need protection. I’ve got some in my jeans.” 

“Right, shit! Yes, get things!,” he laughed at my inability to form words, kissing my nose before he bent over me to grab his jeans from the floor. He grabbed a string of them, ripped one off, and tossed the rest on the nightstand. I didn’t even make a joke about his expectations about getting lucky, because I absolutely would blow through that whole strip given enough time. I keep eye contact with him while he rips the foil pack open with his teeth, and I watch every single move of his hands while he slides the thin piece of rubber over himself. I groan in my throat, wanting him inside me. 

He sits on the bed, cross legged, and instead of waiting of waiting for him to come back over to me, I straddle his lap, draping my arms around his shoulders. He holds his cock for me, watching my face while I sink down onto him. My body stretched around him to make room for him, and the aching sensation made me moan and tip my head back, eyes fluttering closed. I felt his arms around me, helping me balance until my ass was seated in the bowl of his crossed legs, his cock as deep inside me as it could get at this angle. I stayed there a minute, face to face, body pressed to his. Our foreheads rested against each other, and I felt his hands sliding up and down my back. 

“You feel so good,” his tone was almost reverent, his breathing shaky. 

“So do you,” I bit my lip, sucking it between my teeth as a wave of lust made the muscles inside me tighten. His fingers dug into my skin a little, so I knew he could feel it, “I just wanna...” 

“Do it. Whatever it is, do what feels good. I want to feel you come around me.” 

“I can’t...,” I had a really, really hard time coming from cock alone in the past, and I didn’t want him to get bored waiting for me to finish. 

“Oh yes you can. I’ll make sure you get there,” we pulled back a little, looking at each other, and he tucked a few errant curls behind my ear, “Trust me with your body. We’ll figure it out. I want to know what makes you feel good.” 

He dropped light kisses on my cheeks and nose before catching up my mouth with something altogether different than the light kisses he’d just been using. We sucked air through out noses, devouring each other. His fingers grabbed my hips and ass, following my movements. My hips did what they always did when I was turned on - rocked and moved. I was never able to sit still when I was like this. Always needed more. More movement, more sensation, harder, faster, deeper. And now, when I moved, he was inside me and his thick length filled me. I started to move faster, craving more sensation. 

“Let me--,” I gasp out, pulling away and leaning back on my arms. I need more room to move, more friction. Now I have room, and I move, rocking my hips in waves like a belly dancer. He’s at just the right angle for me to grind my clit on his pubic bone while he’s buried inside me, “Oh, fuck!” 

“That’s it Akila, get what you need,” I feel his hands cupping my breasts, kneading them and sending electric sparks to my clit. I rock my hips faster, for once not caring about whether the guy I was with was going to come too fast. He asked me to trust him to get me there, and I am. So I take from his body, unashamed of my own pleasure. Every time I open my eyes to look at him, he’s watching me, the lust plain on his face. His normal goofy sense of humor is gone, and in its place is someone who is focused on me, and only me. He enjoys watching me get pleasure from his body. It’s so hot to be cared for like that, and I go a little faster, grind a little harder, because I can feel myself getting closer. And I want to, dammit, I want us both to know what it feels like for his cock to make me come. 

When I come a few minutes later, I let myself drop backwards onto the bed, my hips bouncing as the pleasure skates through me. I can feel it so intensely that it’s almost painful, but it’s a sweet pain. I hear him groan when my cunt squeezes him. Without pulling out of me, he leans forward, changing position so that we’re face-to-face. I grab for him, my fingers finally getting to dig into his ass, pulling him deeper. But he hits the end of me, and I hiss at the sensation. He tried to pull back, but I don’t let him, holding him deep inside me. 

“It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt. I just wasn't expecting it. You can’t go deeper than that though.” 

“Well, that’s all of me, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” 

“Wait, really? I fit all of that inside me?,” he just starts laughing, kissing me and then nodding against the side of my head. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“I’m a rockstar, that thing is huge.” 

“Complaining?,” he rocks his hips just enough that I can feel him and I shake my head vigorously. 

“More. I want more.” 

“Greedy woman.” 

“For you? Yes,” he slides back, and this time I let him, because I know he’s starting a rhythm not pulling back. At first he goes slow, letting me feel every inch of him, sliding almost all the way out before pushing back inside me. But it’s not enough, and I beg him to go faster, to go harder. I get close, so close, and the sounds of our bodies confirm how turned on I am. But I can’t get there. I’m so close, but I can’t fall over the edge. 

Unlike other lovers though, Noah notices, “What do you need? Tell me how to get you there. Tell me what feels good.” 

“Clit or g-spot,” I might not be able to come, but I’m feeling good enough that words aren’t my best thing right now. I do notice though that he’s looking frayed around the edge, sweat trickling down his temples, “And you? What do you need?” 

“Your permission,” he grins at me, “When you come again.” 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you to come inside me,” He sits up, kneeling between my legs, and shifts my hips so that they’re resting on his thighs at an angle. 

“How’s this?,” he moves, and the only answer I’m capable of giving him is a loud moan, “Ok, duly noted.” 

His cock feels too good for a comeback, and it’s pushing against my g-spot with every stroke. He goes hard, thick cock filling all of me. I watch through lust-glazed eyes, and it adds another layer to my pleasure. He adds a thumb, rubbing my clit in circles, and I hit the roof. So close, so fucking close. Our bodies smack together, and I hear the groan of the bed under us. 

“Noah!,” I scream when my orgasm hits me. I feel the tell-tale gush of liquid and feel the drops splattering on us as he fucks me through my orgasm. My whole body is moving, trying desperately to keep him deep inside me while I come. And, as it fades, he follows me over the edge. I feel his cock jump inside me, and I watch as my body milks him dry, my name on his lips. Fuck, it’s so sexy watching him lose control like that. 

When we’re both done, he pulls out of me and collapses on the other side of the bed, draping one muscular arm over his face. I roll over to look at him, suddenly unsure of what I should do. Some men don’t like to touch after sex, and I didn’t want to be rude and go where I wasn’t wanted. 

“Yeah so I’m gonna need a few to just lay here, so you should get over here and stop being so far away,” he mumbled from under his arm. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I learned that Noah Vintor, academy-award winning actor, sexiest man alive, and irrepressible goofball, was a stage-5 post-cloital clinger. I scooted over and snuggled up and he wrapped himself around me like a vine. God, it felt so good. I cuddled into his embrace, “Besides. There’s no wet spot over here. It’s allll on your side of the bed.” 

“Is that a complaint I hear?,” the teasing is clear in the tone of my voice. I kiss his shoulders and neck. Not to turn him on, but because I just want to kiss him. I want him to know how good I’m feeling. 

“Never,” he nuzzles the top of my head. I fit so perfectly here, wrapped in his arms, his fingers lazily wrapping my curls around his fingers, “It’s a sign of a job well done. Not bad for our first go, I think.” 

“Hmmmm,” I say, pretending to be thinking about it, “I don’t know, I think you should have gone for like six orgasms instead of four.” 

He swats me playfully on the ass, “You joke, but it’ll happen. Just you wait. I was too turned on this time to wait.” 

“That was you having less stamina?” 

“Uh-huh. You just felt so fucking good. Plus you stopped me when I was going down on you. I could have kept doing that for at least two more.” 

“Oh, sure, now it’s my fault,” I dissolved into giggles. 

“I’ve already got at least like sixteen ideas for utterly depraved things to do you,” he pauses, “tonight.” 

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, “Uh, yes, but food first? Please?” 

“Mhm, sure baby. Grab my phone, would you? It’s in the back pocket of my jeans,” I roll over, avoiding the goddamned puddle on my side of the bed, and dig his special-edition green metallic iPhone out of his pants. I snuggle back up to him, catching sight of his lock screen before he unlocks his phone. 

“Is that one of our selfies?” 

“...only if it’s not weird that I put one of those as my background,” I held up a finger for him indicating that he should give me a second, rolled over, and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. I unlocked it and turned it to face him. 

“I was just slightly less brazen about it, because my lock screen is still a picture of the Doge’s palace,” he laughs, kissing the side of my head. 

“What do you want to eat?” 

I shrugged, “Italian.” 

He rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his keyboard. I wiggle closer, kissing and nipping at his chest to distract him, “Hey now, let me finish ordering food.” 

“Ordering?,” take out wasn’t really Venice’s thing. 

“Lance is going to pick it up and run it over.” 

“Oh, right, you know, as you do,” I was teasing him, but he shrugged. 

“If we don’t go anywhere then I won’t get harassed by any tourists or paparazzi.” 

“I’d...completely forgotten. I’m sorry that people treat you that way. Like they own you.” 

“It comes with the territory. I signed up for it.” 

“That doesn’t make it ok. You didn’t sign up to give away all your privacy. There’s a limit, you know?” 

“It is what it is,” there’s an odd tone to his voice. Not annoyed, not really, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to keep talking about this. So I switch the subject. 

“So, what movies did you bring over?” 

“You know, I’ve completely forgotten,” his tone is lighter and there’s a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You should go grab the bag from the living room and see.” 

“You don’t remember?,” my tone is dubious. 

“Nope. It’s completely left my mind.” 

“Uh-huh, sure, and I suppose this has nothing to do with wanting to watch me walk into the living room in only these thigh-highs, huh?,” he rolls me over and puts his phone on the nightstand, clearly finished texting, and kisses my neck and face between his words. 

“Nothing. At. All,” He’s still in refractory land, so I laugh and push him off me, getting up to wander into the living room. I stop in the doorway, wiggle my butt, and blow him a kiss. 

I wander out to where he left the bag and flick through the movies. Italian Netflix is off the table because the movies are in Italian, so I’m glad he brought them. I choose one when I hear his bare feet on the wooden floor of the apartment. He kisses my temple and I hold the movie out to him, “This one.” 

“_ Pacific Rim _? An action movie?” 

“What, I love Guillermo and his robots. And the theme song,” and then I decided to mess with him a little, “Oh, and Charlie Hunham...and Idris Elba. Oh man, Idris Elba should be my hall pass.” 

“What on earth is a hall pass?,” the look on his face right now, this odd mix of confusion and annoyance, makes me want to laugh. 

“It’s when, y’know, you’re dating someone and you have permission to take sleep with a famous person if you ever meet them,” he just gives me a look and crosses his arms. 

“Wait, this is a thing? Does everyone do this?” 

“I don’t know if everyone does it, although admittedly it’s usually just a fun game of ‘which famous person is hottest’ rather than an actual concern.” 

“Then who was your hall pass before?,” Shit. I did not think this through. I turn towards the TV. 

“Yeah, so let’s watch the movie,” I turn to walk back towards the bedroom. 

“Akila, c’mon, who was your-- waitaminnut,” His arms catch me around the waist, tucking my back against the front of his body, and starts kissing the side of my neck. I can’t help but tilt my head to let him, “I was your hall pass wasn’t I.” 

“I plead the 5th,” I squirmed my ass against his hips to distract him from this intensely embarrassing line of questioning. 

“You know I kind of like the idea. You, lying in bed unsatisfied, fantasizing about me. Well, the fantasizing part not the unsatisfied part. It means you probably have a whole lot of ideas stored up,” I turned in his arms. He wasn’t wrong, but I was never going to admit it out loud. I started kissing across his collarbones, and then down his chest, “You keep going you’re going to have some explaining to do to Lance when he interrupts us.” 

I wrapped a hand around his hardening cock, “Do you want me to stop?” 

“Christ, no,” I kiss my way to one of his nipples, licking it and sucking gently on it. His hand pushes against the back of my head and he groans, “Harder.” 

I oblige, sucking harder and grazing it with my teeth. His sharp intake of breath lets me know that he likes it. But getting him off with my hand isn’t the goal. Oh, no. I want to see how he reacts to other things, so I let go, kissing my way down his stomach, kneeling in front of him. I look up at him, making eye contact, and running my tongue up the underside of his cock, from root to tip. I watch him as I swirl my tongue around the tip to wet it, and then take him into my mouth. 

When I was in college, a gay guy friend of mine showed me how to use a piece of spaghetti to desensitize my gag reflex. I, and my boyfriends, have been grateful to him ever since. I put those skills to good use now, wetting Noah’s shaft with my tongue and taking him down my throat. He watches me, his hand in my hair. 

“Jesusmotherfuckingmaryandjoseph,” he groans when I get most of him down my throat and swallow around him. I back off so I can breathe, twisting my hand down his shaft, before I take him down my throat again. I set a rhythm, sucking and lucking and deep-throating, and using my hand when I need a break for a second, “Akila...baby...let...me...lean.” 

He motions towards the sofa that’s behind him, and I release him to let him back up and lean against the edge of it. I follow, on my knees, and take him into my mouth again. His groan is a deep rumble in the back of his throat. I can tell he’s enjoying it by the way his head is tilted back and his breath is coming in short pants, but I need something to push him over the edge. I snake my hand up and press my thumb to the sensitive patch of skin behind his balls, rubbing it in firm circles. 

“Oh, Christ, Akila!,” The way he says my name has my cunt dripping, but I don’t have a free hand to put between my own legs, so I ignore it. I know he’ll be more than happy to help me out later, “I’m going to...to...” 

I know what he’s going to do, and I appreciate the warning, but I don’t stop. I make sure to have him in my mouth when he cries out, his cock jumping and splattering the salty taste of him into my mouth. I swallow it down, not stopping until his cock stops pulsing. Then I pull my mouth off of him with wet pop, and stand up. He immediately pulls me close, burying his face in my hair, “Good?” 

I feel him nod, “Fucking amazing.” 

“Thanks, I--,” whatever I was going to say is forgotten, because there’s a knock on the door. I squeak and dash for the bedroom, hiding out of view. I hear the zip of cloth on cloth, so I think he must have grabbed the blanket off the blanket off the back of the couch to cover himself. I hear them talking because the room isn’t that big. 

“Hey, thanks man,” says Noah. 

“No problem,” answers a deep voice that I don’t recognize. Presumably Lance. Then a pause, “Not coming home tonight, then?” 

“No, he’s not!,” I yell. 

“Hey Akila, nice to meet you,” Lance yells back. 

“Pleasure is all mine!,” I cover my face in my hand, “Thanks for the food!” 

I hear laughter out in the living room, then the sound of plastic bags crinkling and, finally, the front door closing and the lock sliding into place. Footsteps, and then Noah comes back into the room, movie in one hand and food in the other. I give him a guilty, amused look and say, “Sorry?”


	5. Noah in Brooklyn; Rumors Swirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being away from your significant other is tough. Noah and Akila are back home in their respective cities, but Noah's wealth allows them to deal with the distance in some...interesting...ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw yas long distance sexy times. =D

I clomp into my apartment, letting the door slam behind me. I toss my keys onto the counter, not caring about the clatter they make. Kick my boots off, letting them fall onto the tile by the door with a loud thud. I grumble to myself about nothing in particular, yanking off my sweatshirt - still necessary in late April because the weather refuses to get warm this year - and sling it over one of the stools that are under the kitchen bar. We don’t have room for a table, so we use the counter instead. 

“Bad day?,” Charla is sitting on the couch, her thick black hair in a messy bun, wrapped in her comfiest PJs. She’s looking at me strangely, the noodles she was shoving into her mouth hanging halfway there from a set of chopsticks. 

“No,” I reply, flopping down on the couch nearby, and grabbing a throw pillow to hug to my chest. I prop my feet on the coffee table, “Just feeling frustrated and bored.” 

She finishes shoving the mouthful of noodles into her face and speaks with her mouth full, “How close are you to finishing your dissertation?” 

“Handed in my draft to my PI today.” 

“And how long has it been since Noah left Venice?,” Charla is the only one I can trust to tell about Noah. My mom still doesn’t know. 

“One month, one week, three days, and around fourteen hours,” He’d only been able to stay an extra week, going home seven days after we had sex for the first time. He had obligations back home, and I still had another week before he was finally going to have time to come see me. 

“And you’ve been skyping and texting the whole time?,” there is pity in her dark brown eyes. 

“Yup,” his job brings him to the states on a fairly regular basis, but it hadn’t lately. He’d been so busy he hadn’t been able to make the trip for fun, either, and it really sucked. 

“Dirty texting and skyping?” 

“Obviously.” 

“So work stress and man stress. Honey, you need that man to come here and do some dirty things to you. I promise, I’ll buy some earplugs,” the idea of Noah setting foot in my apartment was just kind of odd. Not bad, but just weird, “And, hey, turning in your draft is no small thing. Gratz on that.” 

She held out her hand and high fived me. I might be acting grouchy, but the truth is that I’m relieved to have the draft done. I turned it into my PI - an old, grumpy physics professor - this afternoon and I didn’t want to think about it until he got the draft back to me with edits. Really, my mood is from my poor, neglected pussy. I miss Noah, and so does she. 

That, however, is not Charla’s fault so I dig up a smile for her and ask, “So how was your day?” 

She shrugs and downs another mouthful of noodles, “Normal, nothing special. Still working on that high rise downtown. I should be done tomorrow so I can send it off to the electricians.” 

Charla is an architect, and in my opinion, her job is the cooler one, “Are you gonna show me the drawings?”

“Sure, although I’m not sure how engaging an office building is going to be for you.” 

“I don’t know either, but I want to look anyway,” I liked the blueprints. There was something soothing about figuring out what they meant and imagining them in my mind, “Hey, I’m not feeling like great company tonight. Mind if I just hang out in my room for awhile?” 

“No you absolutely cannot you MUST stay and -- yeah sweetie, go live your life,” I get up to leave and she says, “Oh! By the way! A package came for you. It was really heavy so I had the delivery guy put it on your bed. I think it’s from Nooo--AAAh!” 

“PRESENTS!,” I squeal, “C’mon, you know you want to see what it is.” 

“I was trying to play it cool because there could be something super dirty in there, but yeah, I’m dying to know,” she jumps off the couch and we run into my room. As promised, there’s a giant box sitting on my king-sized bed. The bed takes up almost the entire room, and it’s the most expensive thing I own. It was a graduation present from my mom and dad and I love it. The far wall of my room is a line of windows, and the few feet between the wall and my bed only allows for a nightstand. There’s one on the side by the door, too, with just enough room to open the door. To the left is a long, squat dresser that’s close enough to the foot of the bed that the drawers only just have room to open. It’s cramped, but I love my room. It’s my comfy little cave. 

I dig my leatherman out of my back pocket and slice open the tape holding it shut, hoping that Noah hasn’t stuck anything dirty in here. I wouldn’t put it past him, honestly, and it wouldn’t be the first time. The first thing I see is a packet of tissue paper. When I tear it open, I see soft, light blue cashmere and smell a hint of Noah. It’s the sweater he wore the first night we were together in Italy. There’s a small card on top, and I grab it before Charla can. 

_ Sorry if it’s too sentimental, but I miss you so much. I wanted you to feel a little closer to me. _

I sighed happily and rubbed my face on the soft material. Charla eyed me and laughed, shaking her head, “I can smell that thing from over here.” 

“Smells good, like him,” I put it down on the bed, and hand Charla the note so she can read it. 

“Aw, that’s cute. He’s cute. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to be...soft.” 

“Me, either, but he is,” I go back to the box for the next thing. A clean cream-colored envelope sits on top of a clear plastic package. When I lift up the letter, I see the label. It’s a package of steel-grey sheets. I read the label on them, “Holy shit!” 

Charla looks at the label, “1500 thread count egyptian cotton sheets...nice!” 

“Nice?! Yeah, that’s one word for it,” Extremely expensive was another, but Noah had deep pockets. I knew he hadn’t even thought anything of it, aside from wanting me to sleep on nice sheets. 

I lift the sheets out of the box, and below is what caused the box to be so heavy. There’s at least twenty pillar candles of varying sizes, all in a creamy shade of off-white. I picked up one and read the label; pure beeswax and unscented. They’re designed to burn in a way that won’t drip wax, and he sent along flat metal candle holders for them. They’re nice, but confusing. The shirt and the sheets I get, but candles? I go back to the unopened letter and pull it out of its envelope. 

_ Akila,  _

_ Tonight I wanted to do something special for you to celebrate the completion of your first draft. Since I can’t be there, this is the second best thing. Ordinarily, I’d be taking these actions myself, but your hands will have to replace mine on this occasion.  _

_ Put out all of the pillar candles and change the sheets on your bed. Take a long, hot shower and relax. I’ll be sending dinner by later, so eat dinner and watch the episode of Grey’s Anatomy that you missed last night. When you’re relaxed and full, light the candles, turn off the lights, get in bed and call me (any time after eight EST, I should be on my way home then.).  _

_ Wear whatever you would (or wouldn’t) if I was there, because I’m going to ask.  _

_ Can’t wait to see you next week.  _

_ ~Noah _

Charla makes a grab for the letter, but I flick it out of her reach, “Nope. I love you, but this one’s just for me.” 

She sticks out her tongue and pretends to pout, “Is it good?” 

“Yeah,” I smile, “It’s good.” 

“I am having such a good time living vicariously through you and your relationship. Ok, I’m gonna go and finish my snack now. Have fun!” 

“Oh, hey, he’s sending dinner by later. You want me to text him and have him send some for you, too?” 

“Ooohhh, would he? Because that would be awesome. Free food!” 

“I’ll text him, but you have to let the delivery guy in. You know how much I hate talking to them.” 

“Aw, sure thing, you guys are the best. Thanks babe,” she left, closing the door behind her. 

I started unpacking the candles, placing them over every available surface. All along my windowsill, a few on each night stand, and several clusters on the surface of my dresser. I dismantled the box and stacked it near the garbage in the kitchen before returning to my room and changing the sheets on my bed. By the time I finished all of that it was around five, so I went and took a shower. Yesterday was wash day, so I covered my hair to protect it. I’d also gone to the waxer yesterday, so my legs were smooth. But in the spirit of the surprise, I shaved everything between my legs except a landing strip. It felt so good to have him inside me when everything was hair-free, and I planned on doing it during his visit. So I replicated it now and I’d show it to him. 

I used my favorite soap and sugar scrub - the ones that smelled so good that I saved them for special occasions. He couldn’t smell it, but I could describe it to him. When I get out and towel off, I rub shea butter lotion into my skin to make it soft and supple and chase away any ashyness. I heard a knock at our front door that must be the delivery guy, so after I heard the door close I tug on my robe and go out to get my dinner. 

As per usual, he chose something good. In keeping with the theme of the sweater from our time in Italy, he sent me Italian food. No carbonara because he knew I only eat it when I’m in Italy, but some of my other favorites. There’s even a cannoli the way we make ‘em in Brooklyn - green cocoanut on the ends. Charla and I dig in, polishing everything off pretty quick. By the time we’re done it’s almost eight, so I skip Grey’s for another night and disappear into my room again. 

The last thing I do before I call him his strip off my robe and pull on the silk thigh-highs that he sent me a couple of weeks ago. I was saving them for his visit, but since he went through the effort of sending me all this stuff so I could have a special night even without him, I went ahead and pulled them on tonight. I turned in the mirror attached to the back of my door, enjoying the way the white material looked against the warm, rich brown of my skin. I’d once dated an idiot interior designer who told me my skin was ‘the perfect shade of Pantone 175c’. But in reality, he was wrong. And weird. I’m a perfect match for Fenty 460, and makeup is one of the few things I splurge on. 

I check my phone. 8:01. I pull back the covers of my bed, not getting in yet, and call him. He has a cell phone with an American number so that I can call him and he ends up paying the long distance fees. He answers on the first ring. 

“Hey, princess,” his accent and his pet name for me send tantalizing shivers down my spine. 

“Hey, Captain British, you sound chipper for one am,” he works late a lot, and while it isn’t ideal for him, it does make it easier to talk. It was strange, the adjustments we made for each other even though technically we aren't together. We hadn’t even talked about it yet. 

I can hear the smile in his voice, “Just happy to talk to you. You’re calling on time, so I take it you got my gift?” 

“I did. It’s overly generous, as usual, but I’m not going to pretend I didn’t love it.” 

“What part did you like best?” 

“This is one of those times where you just want to hear me tell you something you already know, isn’t it.” 

“Guilty.” 

“The sweater, obviously.” 

“Are you wearing it?” 

“No, but - and this is extremely embarrassing to admit - it’s in the bed,” I picked it up and rubbed the soft material against my cheek, hugging it to my chest. I missed him so badly that it was a physical ache. 

“Well, that was kind of the idea. What are you doing now?” 

“Standing by my bed. I put the sheets on, but I haven’t gotten in yet. I thought you’d like to hear for yourself how I like your present.” 

“And what did you decide to wear?” 

“Those white silk thigh-highs with the seam up the back that you sent me.” 

“And?”

“Well, I mean, I used some shea butter when I got out of the shower,” the quiet groan that came over the line told me what he thought about that visual, “What about you?”

“Grey suit, ultramarine shirt, and a tie with a weird design on it. I know you like the casual stuff, but I had to put on grownup clothes for work today and I just got home.” 

“I bet you look amazing in that suit.” 

“Honestly, there’s probably a couple of pictures of it on TMZ.” 

“Aw, you know I don’t read TMZ. Selfies or bust, baby.” 

He chuckled, “Hm, why don’t you get into bed and see how you like the new sheets?” 

“Ok. I’m kind of getting cold anyway,” spring just would not arrive this year, and my windows were a little drafty, “A Noah-sized heater would be awesome right now.” 

“So would an Akila-sized one, but sadly, there’s a tiny puddle in the way.” 

“I’ll show you tiny puddle,” I mumbled under my breath. 

“What was that?,” I could hear the teasing in his voice; he heard me just fine. 

“Nothing,” I answer, squirming out of the way of his teasing. I toss the sweater onto the pillow furthest from me and the door, and get into bed, snuggling under the blankets, burrowing in against the silky-soft sheets. A growl of creature-comfort pleasure trickles out of me, “These are so nice they’re almost sexual.” 

He laughs, a cute sort of almost giggle, “Glad you like them.” 

“You are the best gift giver ever. I seriously might fall asleep right now.” 

“Don’t do that, I have plans for you,” the way he says ‘plans for you’ promises things he can’t deliver from across the Atlantic, but, damn, is he going to try. I squirm in bed, pressing my thighs together. 

“Speaking of, why no whatsapp?” 

“I wanted to try something a little different tonight.” 

“Will I get to see your face before you go?” 

“Of course. We’ll say goodnight.” 

“Ok. I’m game, then. Are you in bed too?” 

“No, I’m not undressed yet.” 

“Oooo, does that mean I get to undress you?” 

“After a fashion. What goes first?”

“The tie. Definitely the tie. Something so hot about watching a man take off his tie.” 

I hear the zipping noise of the tie coming out from under his collar a couple of seconds later, “Ok, what’s next?”

“Jacket,” I imagine laying on his bed in England, wearing what I’m wearing now, directing him as he gets undressed. I can see the color of his eyes, the smokey emerald of his arousal. I know how he’d be looking at me. A few beats pass, and I don’t hear anything. The special iPhone he has is good at cancelling noise, and he would have had to put it down to take off the jacket. 

“Ok, baby, it’s gone,” we keep going. Belt, shoes, socks, shirt, and pants. 

“Are you wearing those sexy boxer-briefs?,” I ask. 

“You know I always do.” 

“Ugh, they look so good on you. I wish I could get my hands on you. I’ll have to settle for knowing you’re naked tho, so ditch ‘em and get into bed.” 

A few seconds, some rustling, and I hear him sigh happily, “I love my bed. Right now I’d rather be in yours, but I love my bed. The only way it’ll get better is once you’re here with me.” 

“Yeah? And what would you be doing if I was there with you?,” this is what I was waiting for. The man could do amazing things with his voice, and he put it to good use with me almost every night. There were definitely pluses to dating an actor. 

“Kissing you. Gently at first. It’s nice just to taste you. But you know I’m incapable of keeping my hands off you, especially when you’re naked.” 

I smiled like an idiot, “I  _ do _ know.” 

“I’d get my hands full of your breasts, nipples against my palms. I’d give them all the attention they needed to get nice and tight,” I use my hands - well, hand, because I have to hold the phone - and cup one of my breasts, circling my nipple until it tightens into a hard peak. I bite my lip, imagining that it’s his hand, “Then I’d kiss my way down you. Neck...collar bones...breasts. Flick my tongue against your nipple and suck it just right, just in the way that always makes you squirm. If I was there, I think we both know the next thing I’d put my mouth on...”

I groan, knowing he’d kiss down to my pussy and put his tongue to good use, “Yes...” 

“But you can’t do that to yourself, so I’m going to skip it. Well, you are doing these things to yourself, right?” 

“Yes!” 

“I can see it in my mind. I’d push the blankets off of us because it’s starting to get hot, and we’re going to need room to move,” I tossed the comforter away, cool air raising goosebumps on my skin, “I’d slip a finger into you, just to see how wet you are. How wet are you, baby?” 

“My thighs are slick,” I have my finger between my legs, and inside me, just like he was describing. Everytime we do this I get wetter because I miss him more every time. How can I miss someone so much when we aren’t even together?, “Are you--?” 

“Hard? Yes. Aching,” I love the low, intimate quality to his words. The muscles inside me clench, empty and wanting him. I love knowing how it turns him on, too, “I’d move my fingers in circles around your clit until your hips start to roll, then I’d slide two inside you. Can you reach your own g-spot?” 

“No,” I reply, my voice tight. I’m still moving my fingers in and out of myself. I can hear the noise my wetness is making. 

“I’ll definitely have to help you out with that when I’m there. Are you still fingering yourself?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Prop the phone up so you can use two hands,” I shift on the bed so that I can prop the phone between my head and a pillow, “Keep going. Let me hear those noises you make, but don’t come until I tell you to. Let me hear how much you miss me.” 

“Mmmm,” I agree. I let my hands do their work, slipping in and out of me, fingers rubbing my clit in circles. I make sure he hears every little moan and noise as I push myself higher and higher. I’m close, so close, and I don’t want to stop but he hasn’t told me I should come yet, “Noah, I need to come. I need you to make me come.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely and you look so fucking hot,” I was so distracted by masturbating that I didn’t hear the door open and close, but I definitely notice that the voice in my ear is also in the same room, and my eyes fly open. There, standing by the door wearing most of his suit, phone in one hand and duffel in the other, is Noah. 

“Noah!,” I shriek, the work of my hands forgotten, I jump out of bed and fling myself at him. He has just enough time to drop his bag and catch me. He picks me up, and I wrap my arms and legs around him. He smells just like I remembered and, god, he tastes like I remembered. ‘Kiss’ is too tame a word for what we do to each others’ mouths. He doesn’t even try to walk us to the bed, he just stands there holding me tight against him. It takes time before I can bring myself to slow our devouring of each other, but when I do, I speak between kisses, “You beautiful. Wonderful. Sneaky. Man.” 

“Happy to see me, then?” 

“Yeeeessss....I fuckin missed you so much.” 

“You missed coming, you mean,” even with our faces so close together I can see his smile and I know he’s teasing. 

“Nah, I missed your weird jokes and your evil cackle and even your stupid cold feet,” He grabs my mouth with his again, walking us towards the bed. He lays me down gently, hovering over me while standing, leaning on his arms on the bed. 

“I missed you too. Your bizzare little factoids, your blanket stealing, even the sixteen alarms you set to wake yourself up. I actually watched a TV show the other day, and you weren’t even there,” he kissed me again, “You’re a bad influence on my media consumption habits.” 

“What show was it?,” Now his mouth is on my neck, making little sucking kisses up and down. I tilt my head to make it easier. 

“Not telling.” 

“It was  _ Real Housewives _ wasn’t it.” 

“I plead the 5th.” 

“You’re British,” I pointed out. 

“So?,” He nuzzled his face against me and inhaled, “Fuck, you smell so good.” 

“So do you,” I pulled his face to mine and kissed him again. I couldn’t help but notice the strange expression on his face. I don’t know what it means, but there’s some emotion that’s too much for him right now, “Noah, Noah, Noah.” 

His name is my prayer. Never leave, begs my heart, “I need to taste you.” 

“Naked, first. Let me see you,” I beg. I missed the feeling of his skin. He stands up, a wicked smirk on his face, and shucks off his coat. Underneath his is, like he said, wearing grown-up clothes. He’s ditched the tie and suit jacket though, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. I can see the outline of his hard cock against his pants. I watch him, letting him see the lust that I feel, “Damn, you look good.” 

“So do you,” He starts taking off his shirt, and I drink the sight of him in. I let my hand dip back down to my pussy, rubbing my fingers through my slick folds, playing with my clit. 

He groans aloud and takes a half step forward, saying, “God...just let me...” 

“No. Naked, first. Then, treats.” His head tilts back and his eyes close, before he opens them again and looks at me. The heat there sears my skin, and he goes back to undressing, “You better hurry up, watching you is getting me way too close,” 

He kicks his shoes off and practically rips the rest of his clothes off and drops to his knees next to the bed. He grabs my thighs and pulls me down, swatting my hand away from my cunt, and growling, “Mine.” 

“Yours, Noah,” I breath, running my fingers through his hair and using a fistful of it to push his mouth against me. Not that he needs the encouragement. It’s his favorite thing to do. Mine is having him inside me. Oral is ok, and it’s never done much for me, but I like it a little more with him just because I know he loves it so much. My legs are draped over his broad shoulders, and his tongue makes me groan. I feel his fingers slide inside me, pressing against that sensitive spot inside me. I fling an arm over my mouth to keep my loud moans and noises from travelling to Charla. 

It happens so fast, his name on my lips, my back bowed. I grind against his face, thrashing on his fingers, cum splattering out of my body. His moan reverberates against my sensitive clit, making me twitch with the aftershocks. I know he’d do it again if I let him, but it’s been too long and I need his skin against mine, “Noah. Come up here, I need you inside me.” 

“You taste so good,” he grumbles, standing. 

“You always say that,” I grab a condom out of the nightstand and toss it to him. 

“It’s always true,” there’s a question in his eyes when he opens the condom. He wants to know, but doesn’t want to ask. We aren’t exclusive, even though we act like it. Neither of us has initiated that conversation. 

“I bought a new box since you were coming to visit, but that’s one of the leftovers from Venice,” He smiles and shakes his head, like he’s laughing at himself, “Come on, Noah-sized heater, get into bed with me.” 

He gets in on the other side, spooning up behind me, “You’re right, I do have great taste in presents.” 

I slide my ass against his condom-covered cock, “Given that you’re here, I can’t help but think this was a little self serving.” 

He knows I’m teasing him - the man sleeps with a thousand pillows and as much fluff and comfort as he can bury himself under, “Maybe a little, but mostly I just wanted you to be more comfy in bed.” 

“I’m not comfy right now. I’m way too wet and way too empty,” circle my ass again, then I arch my back to tilt my hips at the right angle, opening my legs some. 

“Good thing for you that I’m giving,” his voice is a hair deeper, lust changing his tone. I feel him move, and then the head of his cock pushes against me, sliding around in the wetness of my cunt. I reached down and push him into the right place, and he sinks into me. I moan at the sweet, burning ache of him filling me.  _ Home _ , says my body. He’s  _ home _ . 

“I always forget how big you are until you’re inside me,” he rocks his hips, sliding and moving inside me. 

“Any time you forget, just tell me, and I’ll be happy to remind you,” he repositions a little so that his arm is under my head, bringing us closer together and letting him use his other hand to explore my body. His hands cup my breasts while he moves inside me, smacking our bodies together. We’re not talking anymore, no sarcastic comments or teasing jokes. Our words go with the movement of our bodies, and we’re both pushed towards the edge. 

“So fucking good,” I moan as he plunges in and out of me. This position is one of my favorites because it feels so good, but it still involves our bodies being plastered together. I get to be held and fucked and he can touch me. His hand snakes between my legs, and after a few skillful flicks of his wrist, I come for him. A couple of seconds later I feel his cock jump inside me and he pushes hard against me. 

“Akila,” he goans, pressing his face against my hair. I squeeze his arm in reply, because I can’t talk. After a couple of seconds he gets up and takes care of the condom, tossing it in the trash by the bed, and then he walks around blowing out all the candles. The mattress dips as he gets back in behind me, and tosses the blanket over us, “Sorry I couldn’t go longer. I’m completely knackered.” 

“Your body thinks it’s like, what? 2am?” 

“No idea. Late. Transatlantic flight,” he gives a jaw-cracking yawn and pulls me tighter against him. I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. It’s like all of his energy went into saying hello to me and now his batteries are draining fast. Surprisingly, given that it’s only like 9:30 or 10, so are mine. 

“I was up at like 5am. Let’s sleep.” 

“Uh-huh,” he’s almost asleep already, so I close my eyes and follow him. 


	6. Mystery Redhead from Italy Reappears in Brooklyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even famous, talented, hot people can have insecurities. And although he's enjoying his time in New York with Akila, Noah's insecurities - and past - haunt him. But love might be the thing that helps him move past it, and seeing himself through Akila's eyes certainly isn't going to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOAR SEX. 
> 
> There is some warning here because in Noah's internal monologue there is the allusion to past trauma and the description of a really brief panic attack. It's right after he follows her into the bedroom after breakfast.

When I wake up in the dim room and unfamiliar bed, it takes a second before I remember where I am. Indistinct voices float through the door, and Akila’s side of the bed is empty. I roll over and rub my hands down my face, trying unsuccessfully to chase away the dregs of my jetlag. After that, I drag myself out of the nest I’ve made of her comforter. I may have teased her about stealing the blankets last night, but it is absolutely me that does it. 

I take care of the suit I discarded last night and dig a pair of pj pants and a t-shirt out of my bag. I pull them on and grab the little bag with my toiletries in it. I don’t see a door in her room for a bathroom, not even a closet, and so I go into the other room with my stuff. I catch the tail end of their conversation, hearing Charla say, “How does he eat so much and still look, y’know...?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t even attempt to keep up with him,” Akila answers. 

“Working out and good genetics,” I interject, my voice rough from sleep and pure exhaustion, “Bathroom?” 

“Over there,” she points to a door, “There’s a clean towel on the rack if you need it.” 

I grunt in thanks, not really all that up to talking yet, and zombie-shuffle into the bathroom. I am not at all adjusted to the change in time zones yet. It always takes a couple of days, although admittedly coming to EST is a bit easier than making the change the other way. I suspect thought that I should get used to it. Or, I hope, anyway. 

Fifteen minutes later I amble back into the main room. My hair is wet, but I’m clean, shaved, and ready to go for the day. I finally get a chance to look at the place. In front of me is the living room, with several tall windows on the right hand wall. The back quarter or so of the room is pushed back about two meters, with a comfortable looking chair and a couple of overstuffed bookshelves. To my left is the front door and the small kitchen. The living room and kitchen are attached, separated only by a long counter and some stools. Akina’s room is across from the front door. To the right of it, and bisecting the room, is the couch. To my right is another door that I’m guessing is Charla’s room. The tall windows have their shades rolled up, letting warm sunshine flood into the apartment. It’s not very large, but it is comfortable. 

Across from the couch, on the other side of the coffee table, are two plush-looking chairs. Sitting in one of them is a short, thick woman with black hair pulled into a messy bun on her head. She has glasses pushed up on her nose and olive brown skin. I know from conversations with Akila that her roommate is the child of two mexican immigrants, but I have no talent for guessing peoples’ ethnicity and never would have known had I not been told. Akila sits on one end of the couch, wearing soft looking pj pants and, “Is that my t-shirt?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she pretends to be innocent and takes a swallow of whatever coffee concoction she has in the big, pink mug in her hands. 

I shuffle over, still half zombie, and drop a kiss on her. Coffee and chocolate, “Uh-huh. Tea?” 

“Sorry hon, but no. This is ‘murica and we drink the strong stuff,” It’s odd to say, but I missed her teasing me while we were apart. Few people tease me, aside from my sisters. 

“Really? I could have sworn I sent you two boxes of the good stuff like a week ago,” I grin at her leaning on the back of the couch behind her. She has her head tilted back to look at me, an amused smile on her face. 

“I might have drunk it all.” 

“Well, I suppose that was the point of sending it,” I kiss her forehead. 

“Do you want some coffee anyway?” 

“Yes, please. I need caffeine. Just some sugar in it?,” I move out of the way as she sits forward, narrowly avoiding getting bonking heads with her as she puts her drink on the coffee table and bounces off the couch. How does a woman that needs seventeen alarms just to wake up have this much energy? I plop down into the place she vacated and grab her mug from the coffee table, while she bangs around in the kitchen and pretends not to notice. I swallow a few mouthfuls of it. She doctors her coffee up with whipped cream and chocolate and other things that make it tasted not at all like coffee and - while I’ll go to my grave before ever admitting this aloud - it doesn’t taste half bad. I couldn’t drink a whole cup of it, but I like the taste of a couple of swallows. 

“By the way, Noah,” she says from the kitchen behind me, pouring the dark liquid out of the charafe - bless her for making enough for me, too, so I wouldn’t have to wait - and into a mug for me, “This is my bestie Charla. Charla, Noah.” 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she says in a fake British accent, giving me a big, shit-eating grin. 

“Honestly your accent’s not half bad. Have you thought about getting into acting? I might know someone who can help you out.” 

“Nah, I’m too good for Hollywood,” she puts a hand on her forehead and dramatically pretends to be offended. 

I laugh at her antics, “Thanks for the help by the way.” 

“You know, I wondered how you got in here,” Akila says from the kitchen, the spoon making little metallic clicking noises as she stirs the sugar.

“Charla’s a good co-conspirator,” I swallow another mouthful of Akila’s coffee. 

“I know all her dirty little secrets,” she wiggles her eyebrows and cackles, “I’ve been her wingwoman for years.” 

Akila comes back to the room, and I watch her walk back. She’s not wearing a bra and I can see her nipples through my t-shirt and--have I always been this horney? Christ, I’m gonna need one of those throw pillows in a second if I keep staring. She sits down on the couch, making her breasts bounce, and I’ve gotta look away before I thirst-stare the clothes off of her. 

“Trade me,” she says, holding out the coffee she made for me. I swap with her, blowing on the contents of the mug, “There will be no conspiratorizing, or whatever.” 

“I make no promises,” Charla declares. 

“Are you complaining?,” I ask like it’s a joke, but my insecurities are near the surface today, and there’s a tiny part of me that whispers  _ she doesn’t really want you _ . 

“Did I sound like I was complaining last night?,” she arches her eyebrow and watches me try to drink my scalding coffee. 

“Not to me,” Charla snickers. 

“I tried not to be so loud,” I stare into my coffee while they talk, willing myself not to think of last night. There are no throw pillows and pj pants show everything. I cover with a mouthful of my drink, burning my mouth, but I’m grateful for the caffeine. 

“Girl, better than listening to you complain about  _ not _ getting any. You were in a goddamned  _ mood _ last night,” Akila shifts in her seat, and there’s something in her body language that tells me that she doesn’t like the way this conversation is going. So I rescue her by changing the subject. 

“Charla, what do you do for a living?” 

“Hasn’t she already told you?” 

“Yeah, but I’d rather hear about it from you,” Sometimes it weirds me out how much people know about me before they meet me, and I don’t like inflicting that feeling on others. 

“I’m an architect. I do a lot of office buildings and stuff, but I enjoy making homes more. I just have been able to find the right firm yet. I’m still young, I’ve got a lot of career left.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, I love it. What about you? Do you like being an actor?”

I settle back on the couch, draping my arm over the back behind Akila, and idly playing with the curls at the base of her skull, tugging gently, “Most of the time. I like different things about different kinds of movies. The indy stuff is challenging, and I like that, but the big-budget stuff is just plain fun. They always have the best food, too.” 

Charla snorts a laugh, and notices that my fingers in Akila’s hair have made her eyes flutter shut, her she’s gone still, leaning into my touch, “Looks like you found the off switch.” 

I smirk at her, because I know better, “No, I found the on switch.” 

“Not for doing anything productive, it’s not,” Akila’s voice is soft and relaxed. 

“Well, if you’re not going to be productive, do you want me to make breakfast?,” Charla asks. 

“Uh-huh,” says my girl, rapidly turning into putty under my fingers. I love the effect such a small touch has on her. She’s so responsive, “Fair warning though, if there aren’t any dead animals in it, Noah probably won’t eat it.” 

My mother raised me better than that, so I scoff, “Noah is a polite guest and will eat whatever’s offered to him. I do like sausage though.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I went shopping yesterday and there are plenty of dead animals in the fridge. Noah, rumor has it you’re a decent cook. Wanna show off?” 

“I’m incapable of not showing off,” I move my hand to stand up and Akila makes the cutest whimpering noise in her throat. I lean over and whisper in her ear, “Make more noises like that, and we’ll be skipping breakfast.” 

She smiles, eyes still closed, “Rude. Go do the thing with the foods.” 

I kiss her cheek and get up to go help Charla in the kitchen. Akila gets up a few minutes later and deposits herself on a stool to keep us company. She offers suggestions from her perch, all of which we both ignore, and it doesn’t take long before we’ve got a full English breakfast done and spread on the counter. 

We all dig in, making idle conversation while we eat. Charla makes me feel at home immediately because she’s one of those people who makes it clear she doesn’t give a single shit if I’m rich, famous, or whatever. It doesn’t change her behavior in the slightest, and I’m more than grateful for it. There’s a conversation I want to have with Akila today, and I’ve been getting more and more on edge the longer I’ve been awake. I’m so nervous that I’m stress eating, but Charla and Akila are good company and I start to relax. I even manage to convince myself that I have a good chance of this conversation going well. 

That conviction holds until we go to her room to get changed, and the door closes behind us. This is when I wanted to ask, but as I let my eyes meander over her while she’s digging clothes out of the bureau a wave of insecurity washes over me. A voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like my ex starts feeding me terrible suggestions. 

_ She’ll never say yes.  _

_ You’re too much effort.  _

_ She’ll never want her life invaded like that.  _

_ You’re stupid for even wanting to ask.  _

_ You’re not worth it,  _

_ Worthless.  _

I know, behind this spiralling train of thoughts, that those things aren’t true. I know it’s the damage talking. It doesn’t matter. The panic has taken hold and I’m frozen in the doorway, my heart racing and my thoughts spiraling out of control, nervously flicking my middle finger against my thumb. The panic is rising and rising and I can feel it clutching in my chest. Again, it says, this will happen again. Don’t do this. She doesn’t want you. Don’t be vulnerable. It’ll only end in pain. 

Then, the strangest thing happens. Akila stands, her mouth open to ask me something, and she notices something is off right away. She frowns, seeing me standing by the doorway, and says, “Are you ok?” 

My ex would never have known something was wrong. She didn’t pay enough attention, and she didn’t care even if something was wrong. The incongruity of Akila’s actions breaks right through my panic, and the vise in my chest loosens. I exhale. I am not back there. I am not with  _ her _ , I am here with Akila. So I take a deep breath, and I call on my acting skills to cover my mini panic attack, “Yeah, I’m fine, just a little nervous.” 

Not being psychic she, of course, gives me a confused look, “I mean, I’ve seen you naked a million times, but I can leave while you’re changing if you want.” 

Leave? Oh, baby, if I have my way that’ll never happen. One step at a time, though. The absurdity of her request makes me laugh a little though, “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just, ah...well...I didn’t come here just to mark the occasion of you finishing your dissertation.” 

That gets her attention. I swear, this woman should have been a detective or an interrogator or something because she’s giving me that laser-focused look of suspicion that tells me she thinks something is up. This is not going as well as I wanted. C’mon, smooth Noah, put in an appearance! I bounce on the balls of my feet, hoping she doesn’t think it’s bad. 

Luckily it’s curiosity, and not caution, in her voice when she says, “Oh?” 

I need to be closer to her to have this conversation, so I go sit on the edge of the bed. Hopefully that’ll help curb my habit of fidgeting when I’m nervous, too. She comes over standing in front of me, between my legs. Now or never, because she’s close enough that I’m gonna get distracted by her, “You know how I have to go out to L.A. for that premier next month? I was wondering if you wanted to come with me, as my date.” 

“Of cour--,” I have to cut her off before she agrees, even though I hate interrupting her. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t do full disclosure and she’s taken by surprise by how her life will change afterwards. 

“Wait, before you agree, let me explain. You need to know what you’re getting into. If we go, I want to walk you down the red carpet. That means cameras and reporters. It can be really overwhelming. Even for me, and I’m used to it. Lance will be there. People will be asking really invasive questions. They’re going to ask about you and I, and if we’re arriving together I can’t really tell them ‘we’re just friends’. Honestly, I don’t even want to,” I don’t know why I’m dancing around this. Why can’t I just go with a nice, direct ‘do you want to be my girlfriend and oh, by the way, the press are the worst’?

“So,” she says, hesitating while she thinks it through. Here it comes, she’s going to say no. She doesn’t want me, I knew it, she’s--, “what you’re really asking is whether or not I want to be your girlfriend.” 

I exhale, grateful that she figured it out, and didn’t immediately say no, “Yes.” 

“Like public girlfriend or real girlfriend?,” I almost make a noise of frustration, but I stamp it down by reminding myself that a, she’s not wrong about how often that happens in Hollywood and b, I haven’t exactly been talkative about that part of my life. I have, in fact, been the exact opposite of forthcoming about being being famous and how I handle my public versus private lives. 

“Both, but I need you to really understand what that means, ok?,” now that she’s kindly enabled me to feel relaxed about having this conversation, I can tell her more. 

“Ok, start talkin’. Although,” she straddles me, sliding into my lap. I’m so grateful for the physical contact that I sigh in relief, “I don’t know if there’s anything you could tell me that would make me say no. It’s not as if I’m unaware of your profession.” 

Oh, god, it makes me want to cry. Her kindness. How could it be possible that she wants me this much? That she’s willing to let the circus that is my life invade her calm, peaceful one? I’m overwhelmed with emotion and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her close and rubbing my cheek against the comforting softness of her sweet-smelling curls. The smell and feel of her calms me, reaching down into the depths and healing places I thought were broken forever. She is everything. 

When I can speak without my voice wavering I say, “There will be photographers much the time, and they can be really scary. They’ll chase you, and they’ll yell, and they’ll camp outside your house. If you’re tired or sick there will be a million articles speculating why. They will make you feel unsafe, and sometimes you’ll actually  _ be _ unsafe. You’ll need a driver and a bodyguard, like Lance. You’ll be scrutinized in creative, terrible new ways by sexists and racists alike. You’ll have to lock down all your social media where people know who you actually are, and unfriend anyone you don’t completely trust. You’ll have to be poked and prodded by my publicist, Jill, and she’ll have to help you put together a public persona. There are a lot of minefields in front of us if we do this. Oh, and let’s not forget the long, excruciating separations.” 

She’s quiet. I know, logically, that she should think this over. That it’s a huge change for her. Except that my insecurities are shouting at me, and my breakfast wants to sour in my stomach. But she’s smart, and intuitive, and she sees right through my bullshit, “So you’re not really asking if I want to be your girlfriend, because I think you know that I do, you’re asking me if I care enough about you to throw my life into complete chaos?” 

I’m so deeply grateful for how perceptive she is, and how she picked up on the things I wasn’t saying, “I know it’s a lot to ask just to be with me, but--” 

Now it’s my turn to get cut-off mid-sentence, “Yes. Noah, yes!” 

Warmth floods me, washing away the nerves and insecurities, but I have to make sure, “Really?” 

“Today’s May 2nd, right?” 

“Yes,” I answer, vaguely suspicious. 

“Hm, well, then I better be getting some anniversary nookie and presents a year from now. And Noah?” 

I cringe internally. Here it comes, the other shoe dropping, “Yeah?”

“You are absolutely worth it, and I don’t like it when you insinuate that you aren’t, or that I would think you aren’t. Let me judge my feelings for myself.” 

I know from having five sisters that all women are strong, and Akila is clearly no different. Her strength and support chases away the darkness that crept in when I started panicking by the door. She’s the light in my darkness, “I’m so goddamned lucky. And, just so you know, if the situation were reversed and like...you were Janet Jackson and I was just like some dude, that I’d definitely do the same thing.” 

“Janet Jackson?,” she makes a face, and my playful side creeps back in. 

“No? What about Oprah?,” now I’m just fucking with her, and she pulls back and looks down at me to glare, “Hm, what about Lupita?” 

Her expression changes entirely, “DO YOU KNOW LUPITA NYONG’O?” 

“Uh...yes?” 

“Yes really, or yes I’ll have my people call her people because I like giving you presents?” 

“Yes, really.” 

“Noah, if you like me even a little, you will introduce me.” 

“I’ll invite her to the premier,” she makes a high-pitched noise that is one-hundred percent fangirl. I should know. Clearly, I’m am not nearly as impressive as Lupita Nyong’o. That’s ok, that’s someone I’m more than willing to take second place to. When she’s done squealing, she grabs my face and kisses me, scooting closer on my lap. I pull her hips against mine wanting to feel her grind on top of me. 

I’m just getting into it when her she pulls away, her head snapping up to stare at me in horror, “Oh my god, I’m going to need to buy a dress!” 

I’m so confused for a second that I frown at her, “Yes, and you’ll be taking my Amex with you. Probably Lance and Jill, too, if I can’t go. I’ll send you to a designer. It’s not the Oscars or anything but it is your first time out so I want you to have the best.” 

“What?,” I can see the wheel turning in her head, and her expression is somewhere between confusion and panic while she processes all of what I just said. It takes me a second, but then I realize she thought she was going to have to pay.

“Oh, babe, you didn’t really think I was going to make my PhD candidate girlfriend to drop thousands on a designer dress just to see a movie with me, did you?,” Astrophysics? No problem for my girl. Someone caring for her? Confusion. We’re going to have to work on that. 

“I guess...it didn’t occur to me to assume you’d buy something for me,” aside from the obscenely expensive bedding and $300 worth of candles I sent, but I guess gifts fall into a different mental box than day-to-day expenses like clothing. We’re going to need to have a conversation about money at some point. Probably right around when she gets a taste of what it’s really like to date someone as famous as I am. 

“Assume that any changes you make, especially expensive ones, that come from being my girlfriend will come out of my exceedingly deep pockets. Hell, just assume that lots of things are going to come from my deep pockets because I like spoiling.” 

“Mmmm, say that again.” 

“PhD candidate?,” I’m literally incapable of not being a smartass. 

“No, the other thing,” her voice has dropped a little, and she dips her head down to kiss a trail up my neck, sucking my earlobe between her teeth. Yep, all the blood in my body is now in my dick. 

“What, the part about you being my beautiful girlfriend?,” I’m so good at charm, I mean, smarm. 

“Yes, that part. You want to know what I’m thinking?,” she pushes against me with her hips, rubbing the heat between her legs against me. 

I always want to know what she’s thinking, “Yes.” 

“That spending the day naked in bed with my boyfriend making up for the last month of being apart sounds like an awesome plan.” 

It sounds like the best plan ever, but every once in awhile I’d like to win a verbal sparring match with her, so I push my luck, “I don’t know, I think I might have to meet this shady character spending time in your bed. Make sure he’s doing it properly.” 

“Noah?” 

“Yeah?”

“As much as I love the just-rolled-out-of-bed-in-my-PJs look you’re rocking, I think you should get naked,” Christ, it grabs me by the balls when she says stuff like that. She doesn’t get vulgar until she’s turned on, and the more turned on she is the more vulgar she is. I like to get her to the point where she’s unaware of how much she’s saying the word fuck. 

She yanks her borrowed shirt off over her head, and tugs mine off too, pressing her bare torso to my chest. Fuck, she feels so good against me. I can feel her hard nipples rubbing against me, and I pull her in tighter, kissing her breathless. Need for her fills me, and I know, absolutely know, how raw and painful it will be to leave in a few days. I crack, and something breaks, and in that moment I realize I’m at least halfway in love with her. So what pops out of my mouth when I pull away came out with no planning whatsoever. 

“Come to England with me.” 

She stops, pulling away a little so she can see my face, “What, right now?”

It’s cute how her I-want-sex-now brain has made her kinda unfocused, “No, in a few days. When I’m supposed to leave, come with me. You’re waiting on your professor to get your draft back to you, so you have some time. I’ve got some things I have to do locally before the press tour for the movie starts, but I’ll have a lot of free time. It’ll only be a week or two so you aren’t stuck if you don’t like it.” 

I stop just this side of begging, watching while she considers, “Are you sure you want me there, in your house for so long?” 

It’s a little comforting to know I’m not the only one with insecurities, so I rush to soothe her, “More than anything. Not seeing you was awful, and a few days just isn’t enough.” 

“You’ll still be busy.” 

“A little, yeah. I can cancel some non-essential things. I won’t leave you trapped in the house. Plus even if we only see each other a couple of hours a day on some of the days, it’s better than texting and whatsapp.” 

She looks like she’s about to agree, but then she hesitates, “Will I be able to go out when you’re not there, or will I be hounded?” 

I hadn’t considered that, and it’s not an unfounded worry. There are reporters outside my gate so often I’ve considered charging them rent, “Honestly? I don’t know. I want to say probably once you get away from the house itself. I’ll hire a second bodyguard just in case so you have someone to take with you.” 

“I want a woman.” 

“Huh?,” the request is so left-field that I’m the one confused, now. 

“If I have to have a bodyguard, I want someone who I can talk to. Someone that blends in, not some hulking black-clad giant glowering behind me.” 

I like the idea of having as much muscle between my girl and danger as possible, but who am I to say that women can’t make good bodyguards? I pull her close again, kissing her collarbones, “Done. Come to England with me?” 

She sighs happily, “Yes.” 

It makes me so happy that I laugh, grabbing onto her in a bear hug, stand, and flip her over onto her back on the bed. I do it the same way I always do when I’m bodily moving her - with controlled, careful strength. I hover over her on my arms, and she starts giggling madly, “What?” 

I know  _ what _ , but I have masculine pride to consider and I want to hear her say it aloud, “I love when you do stuff like that.” 

“I can’t fathom what you’re talking about,” I’ve got a big, teasing grin on my face. My woman is coming to England with me! But right now, I’m hyper-aware of her and her body underneath mine. My cock is aching and hard at the thought of everything I’m going to do to the expanse of her smooth brown skin. I’m going to make her scream my name. 

Sorry, Charla. 

I stand up for a second and yank her pants off as best I can without damaging them, and she follows me up, sitting on the edge of the bed. Before I can say anything, she’s got my pants down on the ground and her hand around my cock. Good lord, woman, “No, not right now.” 

She flicks the warm wetness of her tongue across my cockhead, swirling and licking it. She pretends not to notice when the sensation makes my breath get stuck in my throat and instead she says, “Hm? Why?” 

“Because we went so quickly last night I didn’t get to see to you properly.,” I exaggerate my accent because I know she finds it sexy. She looks up at me while she’s teasing me with little licks and kisses to my cock, “I want to make you come until your legs are shaking and you can’t walk without a wobble.” 

Ha, take  _ that _ , woman! I love the games we play with each other. We are both more than aware of how short her rebound is and the way she finds sex energizing. It takes a lot of work to fuck her into twitching territory, and her arched eyebrow is akin to throwing down the gauntlet. Jokes on her though, because I have no problem spending the rest of the day between her thighs. I heard the challenge in her tone, “Oh, so we’re not going outside today?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I make sure that she meets my eyes, letting her see the lust and dirty promise in my gaze. 

“Good, because you were away for like a hundred years and I haven’t had nearly my fill of you,” I gently push her hand away, using a hand to guide her back down onto the bed, and I get down on my knees between her legs. I make my way up her thigh with sucking kisses and nips that let me taste the salt of her skin and feel her shivers. 

“If I get my way, you won’t have you fill of me for a long, long time.” 

I am truly sorry, Charla. 

Ok. Not  _ that _ sorry. 


	7. Top Ten Setting Powders for Eliminating Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akila and Noah head for London to spend some time together, and she gets her first taste of his life and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I wish I was more ok with being inaccurate about stupid things because I STG the amount of research I did for ONE ridiculous flight. I looked up whether celebs take commercial or private flights, I looked up ways of getting around an airport unnoticed (and ultimately discarded some of the really high roller ones, like JFK has this service where they like take you in a side door and no one knows you're there.), I looked up flight routes from JFK to London, I looked up the *model of the plane* that is used on the specific route and airline I chose, and then I looked up pictures and maps of the interior and honestly I just need to learn to be less anal retentive.

After a lot of back and forth, we decided to take a commercial flight from New York to London. Primarily the reason was that Noah wasn’t going to be returning with me from London to New York, and he felt more secure knowing that I’d be taken care of on a commercial flight and airport I’d be familiar with rather than trying to manage a private plane on my own on the way back. There was also the matter of the rumor mill. 

We had a long conversation with his publicist, Jill, about how and when to start leaking news of his having a girlfriend. Broadling speaking, she was supportive of it and felt that the story of how we met and got together would play well with his audience. The romance of meeting in Venice and his dating a “normal” person would help him, not hurt him. So while we weren’t going to tip the press off to our location to get them to take pictures of us, we weren’t going to hide either. Well, no more than was necessary. There was a certain amount of hiding that we had to do for our safety. Lance would definitely be accompanying us on the trip, and Noah’s assistant would be bringing a car to the airport for us so we wouldn’t have to wait for a taxi or anything. The whole discussion was completely, and utterly surreal for me. But Noah booked three first class tickets out of JFK, at a cost I didn’t even want to think about. We’d both been the victims of horrible jet lag before, and agreed that a redeye was our best bet both for not kicking up too much of a stir and for minimizing the time zone change. 

So that is how I ended up in a car outside terminal 7 tapping the fingers of one hand against the door of a private taxi and the other clinging to Noah. Everything outside the tinted windows looked normal. No press, no crowds, just people going about their business. I could see our goal on the other side of the big glass doors: the first class check in desk. Technically, we were already checked in, but we needed to check our bags. Two weeks worth of clothes was too much for me to jam into a carry on, so we had to check them. There were arrangements at the other end for someone else to pick them up so we wouldn’t have wait at the baggage claim and possibly attract a crowd. It was disruptive, and we were trying to be as un-disruptive as possible. 

My boyfriend is a whole-ass brand and it’s so weird. He sat next to me wearing a baseball hat. He’d let his beard grow out starting a few days ago. It wasn’t a disguise, really, but it altered his looks a little. He also had colored contacts in. I’d asked him about it and he said that people look for his strange green eyes, so he covers them up. That way if they start to think “this guy looks familiar...” they won’t have the eyes to help them out. Both he and Lance are dressed low-key, in jeans and t-shirts. And the leather jacket - that one’s for my benefit. 

Lance has our stuff out of the car and on the curb. No one knows we’re here, this shouldn’t be that hard. Noah looks over at me and I nod, and he gets out. I get out on my side and round the car to join him and Lance. I look around at the crowd. No one seems to have noticed him yet. I grab the handle of my rollerboard and follow them into the airport and to the check in line. 

“Babe,” he whispers, “Stop looking for terrorists.” 

“What?,” I reply, distracted. 

“Just act normal, stop scanning the crowd like that.” 

“Oh,” I blush and look away from a particularly suspicious-looking white dude two rows over, “I didn’t realize.” 

He grabs my hand and gives it a little squeeze. The person in front of us finishes up, and the three of us are up next. I go first, giving the girl my passport. She checks it, prints me out a paper boarding pass that I don’t need, and gets my luggage checked in. Lance only has a small roller-board and Noah just has his duffel, but they’re going to check them anyway so we can move quicker. Lance goes first, and he gets his bag checked without incident. I hold my breath as Noah gives the girl his passport. She looks at it, then up and him, then back down at the passport. I can see it in her eyes, she knows exactly which Noah Vintor this is. 

But instead of doing anything untowards, she just nods, checks his bag, gives him the paper boarding pass, and exchanges niceties. All three of us are through in fifteen minutes of the nice woman’s time. We head towards security, and my shoulders start to relax. No one is looking at us, they’re all just going about their business. 

“This seems too easy,” I say, keeping my voice low. 

“It’s because everyone’s distracted. If they notice me, they don’t think it’s really me.” 

“This happens sometimes, when the press doesn’t get wind of where he’s at,” Lance adds, “Truth is it’ll probably be worse on the other end.” 

“Agreed,” replied Noah, “It usually is. Just because no one has made a scene doesn’t mean my picture isn’t going to end up somewhere with one of my social media accounts tagged.” 

I grabbed onto the distraction, “Do you use your own social media?” 

“Sometimes. I never use facebook, but I’ll tweet now and again,” we get to the desk where they sort you into lines. I have a KTN, but you can’t use a known traveller number on an international flight. Besides, Lance and Noah were British, and didn’t have them. Well, I thought Lance was British. Come to think of it, I didn’t really know. 

“Lance, are you British?,” I asked. 

“Scottish,” his reply was gruff. 

“Oh, I didn’t know.” 

“It’s ok, I can’t tell the difference between American accents,” he went first, handing his passport to the TSA officer. She took it, scanned his passport, and waved him through. I went next, and Noah went last. They waved him through with little fanfare, other than a quiet ‘big fan, loved  _ Sandworld _ ’. Noah thanked him, and we were sorted into the shortest security line. We got through security, and once we were on the other side, I laughed to myself watching Noah parade around the airport in his socks. 

“Almost there,” he said, voice reassuring, as we set off from the security line towards the lounge. 

Halfway to the lounge, someone who didn’t have their hands on his ID figured out who he was, and I heard a high-pitched voice squeal, “Oh my  _ god _ are you  _ Noah Vintor _ ?” 

“Yes,” he admitted, turning to the girl and smiling, “But I’m sorry, we’re running a bit late for our flight and I can’t stop. You understand.” 

This was what we’d agreed on. He didn’t want to be rude to them. In truth, he liked his fans and interacting with them sometimes was one of the best parts of his job. He didn’t like being mobbed, but when he could talk to them in controlled ways or just take pictures, he enjoyed that for the most part. Comicon in particular was great fun, or so he’d said. So he refused to ignore them or be mean, but he didn’t want me to be thrown into it at the airport, so we’d settled on this white lie. 

“Eeeee!!!,” she squealed, “Good luck! Love you!” 

He blew her a kiss, and grinned his crowd-pleasing grin, and turned back to continue on with Lance and I. It happened twice more, and a little crowd had started to follow us, when we finally made it to the Concord room. The airline knew we were coming, so they’d set their doors to open manually instead of by the motion detector. It meant that the fans couldn’t follow us inside, and the doors were frosted glass so they couldn’t see us either. 

“Well. That wasn’t so bad,” I said, blowing out a breath. 

“Nope,” he agreed. 

“Welcome, Mr. Vintor,” came the professionally chipper voice of the airline rep, “And friends.” 

She was a short, round, curvaceous woman in a smart airline uniform. Her eyes were a cheerful blue set against light skin and butter-yellow blonde hair. It was pulled back into a perfect bun, not a single hair out of place. I liked her immediately, and I really couldn’t have said why. Her manner put me at ease. She shook all of our hands, and led us into the lounge, explaining the amenities. We chose the most out of the way spot we could, and she left us to our own devices. 

We were actually really early for our flight; something Noah had planned. He said it gave the crowd time to dissipate because they all had their own flights to catch. So we killed time in the lounge, and when we left, the crowd was gone. We got driven down to our gate by an employee on a golfcart, and I thought it was basically the best thing ever. I’d always hated the slog up and down long hallways in airports. You were always tired or hungry or something, and then it was just miles of people-dodging until you got where you were going. 

Also, I was always a little too tempted by the Cinnabon and Auntie Annie’s. 

We hopped off the golf cart when it slid to a stop, and Noah tipped the man a couple dollars before we went to the desk at the gate. The gate agent was waiting for us, and she let us down the jetway. We’d been allowed to go first so that we wouldn’t cause a scene by walking through half the plane to get to our seats. 

The plane itself was huge, a giant 747 with two levels. A flight attendant had us turn left into the nose of the plane and into the first class cabin. All of the seats on the outside were singular, so he’d booked us the front middle row so we could sit together. It faced the front of the plane, so no one would see him unless they walked to the front and turned around. One of the four passengers in front of us that boarded later did notice him, but she just nodded at him, smiled, and took her seat. 

Even in first class, a long flight is a long flight. The food was better and I got to sleep laying down, which made the time pass quickly. Before I even realized it, the cabin crew was waking us up for landing in Heathrow. I dozed with my head on Noah’s shoulder until we hit the tarmac. Sun started invading the cabin as people opened their window shades and the door behind us let in a gust of cool air. 

As soon as we landed, Noah dug out his phone and turned it back on. Once it had signal, it buzzed with a text. He read it and groaned under his breath, “It looks like someone spotted us getting onto the flight and tipped off the press. Our trip out of the airport isn’t going to be as smooth as our trip into it.”

“Ok, how does this go?,” I asked. 

“Well, the press can’t get past security either so we’ll have some peace until we actually leave the terminal. Lance is going to meet us on the other side of security.” 

“You know, we’re going to have to go through immigration in different lines. It’s going to take me a lot longer. You should give me your address and leave with Lance and I’ll catch an Uber,” He gave me an expression so horrified that I couldn’t help but start laughing, “That’s a no, then?” 

“Yeah, that’s a no. I’ll wait on this side until you’re almost through and then I’ll head in. It might be a good idea to ask the flight attendant if we can get off the plane first, though. It’s pretty early so it should be mostly empty except for the other passengers on redeye flights,” as he was speaking, a flight attendant started to pass, and Noah flagged him down, “Excuse me, I hate to be a problem, but I’ve been notified by my publicist that the press are waiting. Would it be possible for us to leave the plane first? It would make it easier for us to exit the airport without causing too much trouble.” 

The steward nodded, “It shouldn’t be too much trouble, let me just notify the captain and the rest of the crew.” 

“Thank you,” Noah replied, and the man rushed off in the direction of the galley. 

The next half an hour was entirely too busy for my jet lag and I. The flight attendant came back let us know that we could exit first, and a few minutes later were were on the jetway rushing towards immigration. A few escalators, long glass hallways, and a train later we arrived in the big room that housed immigration. 

I hadn’t been to the UK border before, but it was remarkably like the border to the Schengen area. A quick pass through for EU and UK passports, and a long, twisting line for the rest of us. I’d filled out the declaration card on the plane and I got in line with it and my passport handy. Noah’s idea had been a good one; there were only about fifteen people in front of me. I’ve been through some immigration lines in my day, and this was undoubtedly the shortest one. It paid to get off the airplane first. 

“Morning,” I said as I handed my passport to the guy when I was called to the window. 

“Morning. Name, please?” 

“Akila Telan.” 

“How long will you be in the country?” 

“A couple of weeks,” I gave him the date we’d booked my return ticket for. It might change, but we wanted me to get through immigration as quickly as possible so Noah had booked a round trip. 

“Where will you be staying while you’re in the UK?” 

“Um...It’s in the slot on the card. I’m sorry, I don’t remember it off the top of my head.” 

He nodded at me, “Do you know anyone in the UK?” 

“Yes. My boyfriend, I’m staying with him,” shit, shit, shit. No one knew we were together yet. If this guy wanted a name and leaked it...

“What’s his name?” 

“Noah Vintor,” Now, I’ve been through immigration many times, and it doesn’t matter where in the world you are - immigration officers are all stoic. I’ve never even seen one smile. But this guy did a double take and looked up at me, squinting to see if I was lying, so I rushed forward, “I can prove it. I know it sounds unbelievable.” 

“Ok,” he paused without saying anything else and I realized he was waiting for me to prove it. I turned to where Noah was waiting for me on the other side of the room, near the UK passport turnstiles. 

“See over there?,” I pointed him out to the officer, waving and smiling. Noah waved back. 

“You weren’t kidding.” 

“Nope. Please, don’t tell anyone. There’s a gaggle of press waiting outside and we haven’t exactly let other people know yet.” 

“Right, then,” he stamped my passport with the Heathrow immigration stamp and handed it back to me, “Have a nice stay.” 

“Thanks. Do you...want an autograph? I’m sure he’d be happy to give you one.” 

“In truth Ma’am, I’d love one, because I’m a huge fan. But I’m not allowed, it could be seen as a gift or bribery.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll still tell my kids this story,” he smiled at me, and I smiled back, and he waved me through. I hurried around the walk that blocked off customs from the rest of the airport, and searched for Noah on the other side. It was easy to spot him, he passed through quickly and was waiting at the exit. We walked together across a short, wide walkway. There was a sign for the baggage claim at the end, and he looked to see which belt our luggage was on. There were two exits, left and right, depending on the belt where our stuff was. 

“I thought you were sending an assistant to get our stuff?,” I asked, confused as to why he was bothering to check. 

“I am, but Lance will be waiting for us at the bottom on the side with that our belt is on.” 

“I’d...forgotten about meeting Lance,” I gave a little puff of laughter. 

“Sometimes I wish I could, too. Come on,” we turned to the right. Near the escalator, he grabbed my hand, “You ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” we got onto the escalator and started down. I could already see Lance at the bottom, and he gave us a subtle chin tilt when he noticed us. 

“Noah, Akila,” he said when we reached him, “Car’s this way.” 

“Is it bad?,” Noah asked. 

“Well, they say you leaving the airport in New York with a woman so it isn’t quiet.” 

“Where are they?,” I asked. I’d expected to see them at the baggage claim, but they weren’t there. 

“On the other side of customs,” Lance replied, taking up his position behind us. Noah took the lead, and we went through the green customs exit. We had nothing to declare, and no one stopped us to ask anyway. 

“They’re not supposed to be there,” Noah muttered, “They’re supposed to have a permit.” 

“Technically they haven’t taken any pictures yet,” Lance shrugged. 

It started as soon as we exited customs. There was a long metal rail that kept taxi drivers and arrival parties away from the exiting people so that they didn’t cause a backup in traffic. Right now, the taxi drivers were fighting with reporters for space along the rail. I heard one shout, “Oye, back off ya vulture, I have a job to do!” 

I didn’t even bother to try and find the person who was yelling. Not that I could have seen it anyway, because as soon as we stepped out of the baggage claim, the shouting started in earnest, and the flashing bulbs made it impossible to see. I tightened my hand around Noah’s as we rushed forward. He held on, and used his free hand to wave at them. I finally understood why celebrities were always wearing those big, dark glasses - I couldn’t see a damned thing through the flashes. 

I heard snippets of questions and people yelling Noah’s name, but mostly I just ducked my head and followed Noah. I had a sense of Lance being nearby, between us and the press, but I couldn’t really see until we cleared the metal bar and the flashes weren’t in my eyes anymore. Noah led us out to the arrival pickups, and towards a large, dark SUV. Lance held the door for us, and then got in on the passenger side. I looked up and into the front seat and saw a man I didn’t recognize sitting up there. 

“Hey Raleigh,” Noah said, “Akila, this is Raleigh, one of my assistants. Raleigh, this is my girlfriend Akila.” 

He was already pulling away from the curb and the press so he didn’t turn around, but he said, “Hi Noah, Lance. Nice to meet you Akila. Directly to the house, then?” 

“Yes, I think,” he looked at me. 

“Yeah. I’m exhausted and jetlagged.” 

“Me, too,” we settled in and I watched London pass outside the window. After a few minutes of quiet he asks, “Are you ok?” 

“Hm? What do you mean?,” he fidgets by flicking his finger against his thumb. 

“With the press gauntlet. They can be unsettling.” 

“Oh, hm. Well, I didn’t love it, but it didn’t deter me if that’s what you’re asking,” He’s sitting right next to me, so I feel his body relax. God, what happened that he’s so tense every time we talk about our relationship? It’s like he’s expecting me to leave at any second. I nudge him, “It would take a lot more than a bunch of reporters messing up like 40 seconds of my day.” 

“When you put it that way, it sounds so easy. 40 seconds.” 

“Are  _ you _ ok?” 

He shrugs, “I don’t like it. They make me anxious. It’s part of the job though.” 

“Is it the crowd?” 

“No. I like crowds of fans. There’s just something about the flashing lights that makes me uncomfortable.” 

Aside from the day he told me he wanted to make our relationship official, tt’s the most he’s offered up me so far about his job and his fame. Every time I try to talk about it he dodges my questions. And I there was a part of me that understood why; there were definitely times when I was struck by the fact that I was dating Noah Vintor The Product and was overwhelmed. Most of the time he was Noah, my boyfriend, but I could feel the fangirl under the rest of it and eventually we’d both have to deal with that. The only way for me to get that out of my system was if he satisfied my curiosity about it, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet. And, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure I was ready for it either. His fame was a monster. 

“Is,” I hesitated, “is the reason you don’t talk to me about your public life that you think it’s going to scare me off?” 

He shrugged, his eyes flicking to the front seat to remind me that we weren’t alone, “I promise we’ll talk about it. Just...not now.” 

“It’s ok,” I leaned over and kissed his shoulder, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, and I turned to look out the window again. 

Noah’s place wasn’t in downtown, it was north of the city proper in an area called Hampstead Garden. So we didn’t really pass any landmarks or anything, but the architecture of the houses was so fundamentally different from what I was used to that I couldn’t help but stare are it as we passed. This time, it was Noah who dozed off, his head a warm weight on my shoulder. 

It took almost an hour to get from his place to the house. We pulled up through a wrought iron gate with a privacy shield wound through the bars. Tall brick walls surrounded the place, and I could see trees poking over the top. I gently nudged Noah to wake him, “Baby, we’re here.” 

“Hm?,” he mumbled, waking and looking around, blinking in sleepy confusion, “Oh, we’re home.” 

I heard Lance chuckle I the front seat, and I smiled too. I turned back to the window to see his house. The driveway was also orange brick, and we followed it through a short tunnel of trees until it widened into a curved driveway. The lawn wasn’t very large, and most of it was landscaped with bushes and trees. They were just starting to grow leaves, but mostly they weren’t doing anything to shield the yard from prying eyes yet. The grass was still mostly that dead green color of the winter, although I could see patches here and there that were green. 

The house itself was, as I expected, large. It was mostly brick, with some white plaster, and to me it seemed to be a confusion of peaked roofs and pretty diamond-patterned windows. To the left I could see the garage, but beyond the facade, the garage, and the yard, most of the property was still out of view. What I could see of it, I liked, and I was excited to get inside and have Noah show me around it. 

The car pulled to a stop before the garage, and we got out. Lance and the assistant stayed in the car, presumably to park it in the garage, “Where does Lance live?” 

“Couple neighborhoods over,” he gave a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched, “He’s going to park the car and Raleigh is going to take him home.” 

“Oh. Um, when is our stuff going to get here?,” he started towards the front door, slinging his arm around my shoulders. 

“Later. They’ll drop it off in the office in the garage. We won’t even notice they’re here,” he stopped and unlocked the door with a code, “You ready for the tour?” 

“Hell yeah. Hit me with your best design nerd-ing,” He grinned at me, obviously happy I’d remembered what he told me in the lab in Venice, and preceded me into the house. 


	8. Noah Vintor’s North London Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akila and Noah get to his house, and his home tour devolves into christening the bed.

I watch Akila wander ahead of me after I put our coats into the closet, looking around. The house is a blur for me because I live here, but I take the time to show her the important parts. Mostly that’s the living room, the kitchen, and the library. She said to be my nerd-y self, but I was exhausted and I could tell she was too. So I gave her the quick and dirty, and we headed upstairs to my room. A longer tour could wait until tomorrow. 

My room is my favorite part of the house, aside from the kitchen. I painted it a gorgeous candy-apple red, but I put in creme wainscotting and a creme carpet to keep the red from being overwhelming. Carefully chose and placed recessed lighting makes the place look like the light comes from nowhere. But the best part is the bed: it’s a huge four-poster bed, a california king, and the posts, headboard, and footboard are all sculpted from iron to resemble interwoven tree branches and roots. It’s my favorite piece of furniture in the whole house, so it’s gratifying when her face lights up in a grin as she looks around. She slips her shoes off, leaving them by the door, and wiggles her toes into the pile of the rug. It’s so cute that I almost start laughing like an idiot. 

I lean on the doorjam, arms crossed, and watch her make herself comfortable in my room. The first thing she does is make a bee-line for the bed, face planting crosswise into the mattress with a satisfied groan. Then she rolls over and looks at me, and I know that look on her face. I don’t move from the door while she watches me. Instead I say, “Do you like it?” 

“Hm? The room?,” I almost laugh, but I manage to restrict myself to a satisfied smirk. 

“The house.” 

“House is gorgeous. Room is gorgeous. Man is gorgeous,” I do laugh at that, but I still don’t move, so she teases me instead, “This bedframe is something else, and I’m glad to finally meet Mount Thousand Pillows.” 

I finally cross the room and flop down next to her on my stomach, sinking into the soft comforter and pillow top, “Hey, each and every one of those pillows is special.” 

I like feeling like I’m sleeping in a nest of clouds. It’s a thing. I look at her, and I see how relaxed and happy she is. Tired, yes, but she looks content, a small smile on her pillowy lips. Seeing her in my room, content, and finally just  _ here _ makes me feel just as relaxed as she is. My girlfriend is laying in my bed. I want to play. So I push myself up and fling myself over, straddling her. I bend down and kiss her, taking a long time to lick and taste her lips and mouth. I keep going until a pull a groan from her throat. Then I pull away. 

“I’m glad you like it. I was nervous that you wouldn’t be comfortable here.” 

“How could anyone be uncomfortable with so many pillows?” 

“See?! That’s what I keep saying!” 

“I know what you mean though. I feel like I just...fit,” she shrugs, unable to find the words for what she’s trying to tell me. But I understand. She completes the picture. 

She reaches up and pulls me down to her, this time being the one who steals a kiss. I rock my hips, my cock getting heavy and thick in my pants, but I’m not done talking yet so I pull away a little, “You can go wherever you want. Well, except the office.” 

“Why, do you have a dying rose in there?,” she grins at me and then nuzzles my jaw. 

“Nope. Movie scripts and you haven’t signed an NDA.” 

“That’s a lot more boring,” she kisses a trail across my jaw to my chin, and then to my mouth again. Fucking hell, I can’t ever get enough of her mouth. She’s so good with it. I feel her fingers make their way under my shirt, so I help her, going onto my knees and tugging it over my head. I toss it onto the floor. She sits up between my legs while I’m pulling it off, and once it’s gone, her hands are all over my ass and my back while her soft mouth trails kisses, licks, and gentle bites over my abs. I’m so fucking hard I could probably hammer nails. My girl being in my bed for the first time has every possessive bone in my body wanting her. 

Her mouth is against my skin, but I still manage to hear her mutter, “God, you’re so beautiful.” 

Beautiful is not an adjective that gets applied to me a lot. Hot? Gorgeous? Sexy? All of the above. But beautiful? No, not really, and there’s something about the tone of her voice, the naked appreciation of it, that makes me feel valued; treasured. I’m beautiful to her because I’m  _ her’s _ , not because I’m a movie star. So I decide to dip my toe into dangerous waters, and I tease her a little. 

“This is nothing, you should see me in movie shape,” I don’t particularly like movie shape. I don’t get to eat anything that tastes good, I have to spend all my time working out, and then they dehydrate me so everyone can see those muscles. That said, I’m not stupid - I look damned good. I have insecurities on top of insecurities, but my looks aren’t on that list. 

She frowns at me though, clearly confused by what I mean, “Movie shape?” 

I kneel down so that I’m basically sitting in her lap, straddling her thighs, but I’m eye level, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you saw  _ Sunset _ , right?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. 

I pitch my voice to a low growl, letting my accent broaden in a way that I know makes her little wet. My head dips down and I kiss my way up her neck to her ear, “That was not a body double. I don’t use them unless I absolutely have to.” 

I pull back a little to see her. The movie had been a romance, and I watch as she goes through the scenes in her head. Knowing my fan base as I do, I’d been pretty insistent that the movie body I’d worked for be shown off more than was strictly necessary. My ass should have had its own role, that’s all I’m saying. So I watch as the comprehension dawns and she gets that look on her face. It’s like the look she gets when she’s thirsting after me, but amplified by the power of a movie screen. I swear I feel her shiver under me. 

I smirk at her, “And theeeeere it is.” 

“Huh?,” She’s literally gotten distracted enough to lose her words, and it makes something masculine inside me stand up and roar. I love that feeling, I love it when I put that look on a stranger’s face, but it’s even better seeing it on hers. 

Vanity, thy name is Noah. 

“That look on your face is why I take my clothes off on camera sometimes. It looks better on you though.” 

She blinks, her thoughts snapping back to the now, “Oh that is just not fair.” 

Well, she’s right, it isn’t. In my defense, she gets a version of the look all the time when she’s around me. I’m sure I have my own version of it too. But I know it’s not the same. The lust you evoke in a lover is not the same as the lust you evoke in a random person. It’s strange, the relationship between a celebrity and our fans. They know you, but they don’t  _ know _ you. They can’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t be believable. But a lot of times, you have to put pieces of yourself into your characters, and they get to know you a little that way. So it creates a kind of cachet that can be really overwhelming for some people. 

That aside, it brings me so much joy to put that look on her face that I laugh and say, “I promise not to do it often.” 

And, I won’t, but all bets are off on making her drool after me a little. We do spend a fair amount of time lusting after each other. But her demeanor shifts and she sighs and wraps her arms around me, “We’re going to have to have that conversation soon, aren’t we.” 

I don’t have to ask which one she means. She mentioned it in the car, and I can’t deny that I’ve been thinking about it too, “Yes.” 

She leans her forehead against my shoulder, “I’m afraid of popping the bubble.” 

Me too, baby, me too, “You mean the happy new relationship bubble?” 

“Uh-huh. Then it becomes...real,” she sighs again and I can hear the frustration, “That’s not really what I mean, but it’s more that it’s a step towards something more real, more serious.” 

Yes. Yes, it is. And I hope she wants to go there with me, “I’m here with you. I’m ready for it to be more serious. I want to be more serious, but I get nervous about overwhelming you.” 

“I know,” her voice is muffled against my skin, and she turns her head and looks up, smiling at me. I wonder if that’s what she needed to know - that I’m ready to move forward, too, because she’s shifted back to being playful, “But not tonight, and especially not with you half naked. I can’t think straight when you’re half naked.” 

“Does that mean you can’t think at all when I’m fully naked?” 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“Thinking is overrated,” I kiss her, pushing her slow back down onto the bed with the weight of my body. Her hands are all over me, fingers running up and down my skin, her nails grazing me. I groan into her mouth, because the promise of her nails on my skin always urges me on. She doesn’t know why, yet, but she knows it turns me on so she does it a lot. Then her hands are tugging at my pants, and diving into them to wrap around my hard cock. She strokes me with her fist, and I want to thrust into the tight circle of her fingers, but there are too many layers between us. 

“Let me get naked,” I plead between kisses, “You, too.” 

“Uh-huh,” she pushes me away and I stand up. Our eyes barely leave each other as we strip off our clothes and throw them haphazardly around the room. 

I’m back on her as soon as we’re naked, this time between her legs instead of straddling them, kissing and sucking the skin of her neck. I want to mark her, to let my mouth leave a bruise on her skin so everyone knows she’s mine, and I want her to do that to me. I want to wear her scratches, I want to wear the marks of what’s between us. But I don’t, not yet. There’s so much I want to do to her that I’ve been holding back, so much I want her to do to me. So many conversations to have first. If I hadn’t been so nervous, maybe we could have already had them by now. 

“I’ve waited so long to have you naked in my bed,” I say, grinding my hips and dragging my hard cock against her slick pussy lips, teasing us, “You don’t know how many times I laid here, thinking about you, my hard cock in my hand and wishing you were there.” 

Her breath catches and her fingers dig into my skin, “Probably as many times as I laid in bed thinking the same things about you back in the states. Having you in my bed the first time was so good.” 

“Christ, the idea of you alone, fingers buried in your pussy, thinking of me,” I trail off, my fingers digging into the blankets. I’m so fucking hard. 

It’s been a long, long time - since my early twenties - since I’ve wanted someone this much or this desperately. I need to show her what she’s doing to me, and I don’t have the words for it. I want her to be as aching for me as I am for her, and so I start kissing my way down her body. I lick her collarbones, and kiss away the salt on her sternum. I suck on nipple into my mouth, opening my mouth wide to draw in as much of her flesh as I can, and I flick my tongue over the sensitive flesh. I switch sides, and give the same attention to the other breast. I love her tits. I love all her curves, but she’s so gifted up top. They’re several handfuls at least, and they’re perfect. Sensitive and responsive, too, so my tongue already has her making noise. 

She pushes my head down, fingers wound in my hair. I take it for the hint that it is, almost crossing my fingers that it’s a sign that she’ll let me go down on her for longer tonight. She usually gets too turned on to have the patience for a lot of oral, but I’d do it for hours if she’d let me. I love the way she tastes and smells, and I love the way she bucks and writhes when she comes. I love that I’m the one who made her feel that way. 

So I waste no time, and I don’t tease her. I hear her moan loudly when I lick a hard line from her opening to her clit. God, she’s so fucking wet already. It isn’t long before my chin is slick too, and she’s rocking against my face. I hold onto her while I work her over with my tongue, knowing that when she comes she’s going to move a lot more than this. She almost cracked me in the nose the first time. 

“Noah!,” I hear her moan, even though her thighs are pressed against my head. ‘That’s it, baby’, I think to myself, ‘show me what you like. Let go, let yourself come for me.’ My name in her mouth drives me, and I need to hear her say it again and again. Pray to me, baby girl, Just like that. 

Fuck.  _ This woman _ . 

The intensity of my thoughts make me squeeze her thigh where I’m holding her down, and she comes. Her hands are fists in my hair, and her hips buck, and I keep my mouth on the hard nub of her clit, sucking and drawing out her orgasm. She has to be reaching the point of sensitivity, but instead of pushing me away she holds me harder. I pushed my fingers inside her, hooking them to put pressure on her g-spot, feeling the flutters of her cunt around my fingers. I know her body by now and I know she’s not still coming, but she’s so turned on that she’d probably be pushed into another one easily. So that’s what I do. She’ll tell me when she’s had enough. 

And, as it turns out, she lets me wring four loud, gushing orgasms from her before she finally pushes me away. Normally I only get one or two. It’s her voice that gets me this time, “Noah. You’re too far away.” 

Well, the lady doesn’t have to tell me twice. I get up and subtly wipe off my mouth. She doesn’t mind the taste of herself, but she doesn’t like it if I kiss her when my face is still a mess. I grab a condom and roll the thing on. My cock is thick and there’s so little give to it. She watches me the whole time, her eyes prickling my skin. She scoots back on the bed to make it easier for us. 

When I’ve got the condom on she holds out her arms to me and I go to her, settling between her legs. I don’t take my time; after four orgasms she’s plenty wet and ready. I slide into her in one smooth stroke, burying myself in the clenching heat of her. 

“Fuck, you’re so hard!,” she groans. There’s an urgency, a desperation in her voice that strokes my ego. Her thighs tighten around my waist and she rocks her hips, trying to get more friction. Damn, babe, give me like three seconds. I drop kisses and nips on the smooth line of her jaw, moving to her ear. 

“I told you how much going down on you turns me on.” 

“Not complaining,” she pulls my mouth to hers, and I move with the rocking of her hips. I start in time with her but I push hard and faster, taking control of the tempo. I grab one of her legs, pushing it up and changing the angle of penetration, driving my cock into her. I am thanking every minute of orgasm denial I’ve ever participated in, because without that kind of stamina training I never would be able to last through the hard, fast pace I’m putting us both through. As long as she doesn’t--

Oh,  _ fuck _ . Her nails blaze electric tracks of pain down my back. Just a small edge, enough to remind me how much I like the real thing. She grabs and holds on, and I know she’s leaving marks. She’s never done this before - been so far gone that she digs in when she holds on. And I’m, shit, motherfuck, I’m so turned on that I don’t know if I can hold out. I try not to think of it. I try to ignore it. I try not to picture all of the things I want her to do to me. The peace I want her to bring to me. But my brain just screams, ‘that’s it, baby, I’m yours. Show me that I’m yours.’ 

I need her to come for me so I can finished. Please, baby, please come for me. She’s close, I can tell. I’m at the right angle. A few more strokes and - oh, thank god, there it is. Her cunt clamps down around me like a vize. I feel her hot come spurt out and soak both of us. This, this is what I wanted. I don’t slow or stop while she comes, pounding into her just as hard. Her nails leave hot streaks on my skin and she bites down on the meat of my shoulder where it flows up to my neck. That’s it, I’m done for. I push deep and follow her over the edge, covering her with my body and groaning into her neck. 

I don’t want to move, and we’re both breathing hard. I stay there until she starts giggling like a fiend. Then I pull out of her and flop onto my back, looking over at her and smiling when she says, “We ruined your comforter.” 

“Fuck it, I’m rich, I’ll buy a million new duvets if I can make you ruin them by coming on them,” she laughs harder, and wiggles over to snuggle up to me, “Hey, let me take care of the condom real quick.” 

I sit up and roll it off, tossing it in the small trash can next to the bed, and I hear her suck in her breath. Her fingers tentatively touch my back, “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry.” 

“Hm? What for?” 

“Your back is a mess,” I turn to her and her eyes widen, “Oh god, your shoulder! I BIT you!” 

“Damn straight you did. Now come back over her and cuddle with me under the covers,” we push off the thin, stained duvet and wiggle under the feather blanket that was underneath the cover. She settles against me, little spoon to my big spoon. I rub my cheek against her shoulder and kiss it. The yawning sense of sadness and insecurity that I always feel after sex is so much less today. All I can think about is the feeling of her soft, warm skin tucked against mine and the residual sting on my back. But I know she needs reassurance about the marks she left on me. She thinks she hurt me, “I like it.” 

“The scratches?” 

“And the bite.” 

She was quiet for a minute, thinking, and then she said, “What do you like about it?” 

“Lots of things. I like that you did it without thinking. I like that I made you come so hard you  _ bit me _ . And,” I hesitate to tell her the next part, because I don’t know how she’s going to take it, but I need to be honest with her, “I like that it’s physical evidence that we’re together. That I’m yours. I’m proud of you. I mean, I’m proud that we’re together. It’s like...hm, how do I explain it. When you mark me up, if someone else sees it, it means they know that I fucked my woman so well that she couldn’t control herself. Plus it feels fucking great.” 

“It does?” 

I shrugged, “I like a bit of pain.” 

“A bit of pain or a lot of pain?” 

“Depends.” 

“On?” 

“What else is being done. Stubbing my toe? Not fun. My woman gouging up my back when I’m inside her and about to come? Very, very fun.” 

“What about other kinds of pain?,” she didn’t sound disgusted or apprehensive, she sounded interested. I couldn’t help the shiver that went through me. 

“Other kinds are good too. And, I promise I’m not being dismissive, but it’s way too long of a conversation to have when we’re both exhausted and jetlagged. I swear that I will talk to you about it when we’re both fully clothed and awake and everything.” 

“Give me the quick and dirty?” 

I know she could hear the smirk in my voice, “Thought I just did that?” 

She gently elbowed me in the ribs and laughed. She squirmed, turning in my arms to face me, “Seriously? Just tell me the short version.” 

“Man I was really hoping for some post-rogering jetlagged snuggle-napping.” 

“We can do that, too,” she yawned to emphasize the point. It had to only be like 10am or so, but we both needed sleep. 

“Short version. Ok. I’ve done, and thoroughly enjoyed, some damned kinky shit in my life. Much of it I wouldn’t mind doing again, and definitely wouldn’t mind doing it with you. And in case you’re wondering, ‘wouldn’t mind’ is code for ‘would fucking love to’.” 

“What kind of kinky shit?” 

“Right now sleep seems really kinky.” 

“Stop avoiding my question.” 

“The technical term for my proclivities is a switch. Most of the time, as I’m sure you noticed, I’m kinda bossy and like to be in charge when we fuck.” 

“Yeah, hadn’t noticed that at all,” the sarcasm in her tone made me laugh. I was not shy. 

“You don’t seem to mind.” 

“I don’t.” 

“See? Anyway, sometimes I don’t like being in control. At all. Sometimes I want someone else to be in control.” 

Instead of pressing for more information, a wide, cheshire-like smile spread over her face, and I knew I was either going to love or hate whatever shit was about to come flying out of her mouth, “So what you’re saying is  _ you _ want to call  _ me _ daddy.” 

“As long as you’re sticking things in my ass when I do it, I’ll call you whatever you want, Akila,” I couldn’t help it, I busted up laughing, and so did she. 

“Sticking things in your ass,” she smirked and a couple of giggles made their way out, “Fuck, that’s hot. How am I supposed to sleep now?” 

“Soundly, smartass. Grab one of my thousand pillows and let’s go to sleep.” 

She snuggled closer and tucked her head under my chin, laying on my arm, “Nah I’m good with the pillow I’ve got.” 

“Mmm. Pillow number 1,001 is my arm.” 

“You’re the worst.” 

“I know.” 


End file.
